The Illusion Is We Are Only Physical.

Anger Is A Wound Gone Mad.

Poetry Is A Subset Of A Cosmos, Which In Itself, Is A Poem.

Genuine Art And Business Are The Ultimate Partnership Toward Catalyzing Social Evolution And Well-being.

Because I Had Goodwill For All, I Thought All Were My Friends. And Then I Learned Of Treachery, That Some Preferred My End. It Wasn't The Goodwill I Felt That Made Someone A Friend. What Handy Day, The One I Learned The Meaning Of The Word. How Good To Know My Enemies (though Their Reasons Are Absurd!)

The Primary Dues A Writer Or Any Artist Pays Is To Remain Sentient, And To Forfeit The Illusionary Luxury Of Such Anesthetics As Avoidance, Numbness, And Denials.