Write About What You're Afraid Of.

And I Sat There Getting Drunker And Drunker And More In Love And More In Love.

One Of The Pleasures Of Art Is That It Enables The Mind To Move In Unanticipated Directions, To Make Connections That May Be In Some Sense Errors But Are Fruitful Nonetheless.

Succeed! It Has Been Done, And With A Stupidity That Can Astound The Most Experienced.

--why Are We Fighting Them? --they're Mad. We're Sane. --how Do We Know? --that We're Sane? --yes. --am I Sane? --to All Appearances. --and You, Do You Consider Yourself Sane? --i Do. --well, There You Have It. --but Don't They Also Consider Themselves Sane? --i Think They Know. Deep Down. That They're Not Sane. --how Must That Make Them Feel? --terrible, I Should Think. They Must Fight Ever More Fiercely, In Order To Deny What They Know To Be True. That They Are Not Sane.

The World Is Sagging, Snagging, Scaling, Spalling, Pilling, Pinging, Pitting, Warping, Checking, Fading, Chipping, Cracking, Yellowing, Leaking, Stalling, Shrinking, And In Dynamic Unbalance.