No Tears, Please. It's A Waste Of

We Each Die Countless Little Deaths On Our Way To The Last. We Die Out Of Shame As Humiliation. We Perish From Despair. And, Of Course, We Die For Love.

The Monsters Act Out Our Rage. They Act On Their Worst Impulses, Which Is Appealing To A Certain Part Of Us. They Get Punished For It, But We've Enjoyed The Spectacle Of Their Liberation.

Maybe The Man Had Taken The Wrong Turning, But At Least He'd Travelled Some Extraordinary Roads.

Sooner Or Later Even The Most Ambitious Glutton Must Crawl Away And Seek The Solace Of The Vomitorium.

You Just Have To Trust Your Own Madness.