Midian Is Where The Monsters Go.

Perhaps Sunlight Had Always Been Luminous, And Doorways Signs Of Greater Passage Than That Of One Room To Another. But She’d Not Noticed It Until Now.

You Must Be Careful With Kindness. It's Usually Mistaken For Weakness By Stupid People.

She Had Opened A Door... And Now She Was Walking With Demons. And At The End Of Her Travels, She Would Have Her Revenge... Pain Had Made A Sadist Of Her.

Zombies Are The Liberal Nightmare. Here You Have The Masses, Whom You Would Love To Love, Appearing At Your Front Door With Their Faces Falling Off; And You're Trying To Be As Humane As You Possibly Can, But They Are, After All, Eating The Cat. And The Fear Of Mass Activity, Of Mindlessness On A National Scale, Underlies My Fear Of Zombies.

The Whole Point About Vision Is That It's Very Individual, It's Very Personal, And It Has To Be Confessional. It Has To Be Something Which Hurts - The Pulling Out Of It And Putting It On The Page Hurts. Art Can Be About The Individual Writer's Response To His Or Her Condition, And If That Response Comes Out Of A Predigested Belief About What The Audience Wants To Hear About The Writer's Condition, Then It Has No Truth, It Has No Validity. You Either Write With Your Own Blood Or Nobody's. Otherwise It's Just Ink.