After All, It Is Not Where One

New York Rose Out Of The Water Like A Great Wave That Found It Impossible To Return Again And So Remained There In Horror, Peering Out Of The Million Windows Man Had Caged It With.

An Image Is A Stop The Mind Makes Between Uncertainties.

For Most People, Life Is Nasty, Brutish, And Short; For Me, It Has Simply Been Nasty And Brutish.

One's Life Is Peculiar To One's Own When One Has Invented It.

There's Something Evil In Me That Loves Evil And Degradation--purity's Black Backside! That Loves Honesty With A Horrid Love; Or Why Have I Always Gone Seeking It At The Liar's Door?