What Is Writing? Writing Is Telepathy.

Every Man Or Woman Who Loves Him, They Hate Him Too, Because He's A Hard God, A Jealous God.

All Is Forgotten In The Stone Halls Of The Dead. These Are The Rooms Of Ruin Where The Spiders Spin And The Great Circuits Fall Quiet, One By One.

Make-up Covers A Multitude Of Sins.

I'm One Of Those People Who Doesn't Really Know What He Thinks Until He Writes It Down.

What If There Were No Grownups? Suppose The Whole Idea Of Grownups Was An Illusion? What If Their Money Was Really Just Playground Marbles, Their Business Deals No More Than Baseball-card Trades, Their Wars Only Games Of Guns In The Park? What If They Were All Still Snotty-nosed Kids Inside Their Suits And Dresses? Christ, That Couldn't Be, Could It? It Was Too Horrible To Think About.