I Have Spent My Life Resisting The

Some Books Seem Like A Key To Unfamiliar Rooms In One’s Own Castle.

In A Way, You Are Poetry Material; You Are Full Of Cloudy Subtleties I Am Willing To Spend A Lifetime Figuring Out. Words Burst In Your Essence And You Carry Their Dust In The Pores Of Your Ethereal Individuality.

Faith, Like A Guillotine. As Heavy, As Light.

Everything You Say Is Boring And Incomprehensible, But That Alone Doesn't Make It True.

The Experience Of Life Consists Of The Experience Which The Spirit Has Of Itself In Matter And As Matter, In Mind And As Mind, In Emotion, As Emotion, Etc.