We Love Best Those Who Are, Or

What A Mystery This Is, Desire. The Love Sickness, The Sensitivity, The Obsession, The Flutter Of The Heart, The Ebb And Flow Of The Blood. There Is No Drug And No Alcohol To Equal It.

This Diary Is My Kief, Hashish And Opium Pipe. This Is My Drug And My Vice.

Stories Are The Only Enchantment Possible, For When We Begin To See Our Suffering As A Story, We Are Saved.

I’m Restless. Things Are Calling Me Away. My Hair Is Being Pulled By The Stars Again.

The One Who Travels Like A Lover Searching For A New Passion Is Suddenly Blessed With New Eyes, New Ears, New Senses.