Don't Get Me Wrong. I Have Nothing

I Do Think That Art That Doesn't Communicate Is Useless.

The Greatest Ideas Are The Simplest.

The Pile Of Guts Was A Black Blob Of Flies That Buzzed Like A Saw. After A While These Flies Found Simon. Gorged, They Alighted By His Runnels Of Sweat And Drank. They Tickled Under His Nostrils And Played Leapfrog On His Thighs. They Were Black And Iridescent Green And Without Number; And In Front Of Simon, The Lord Of The Flies Hung On His Stick And Grinned. At Last Simon Gave Up And Looked Back; Saw The White Teeth And Dim Eyes, The Blood—and His Gaze Was Held By That Ancient, Inescapable Recognition.

Which Is Better -- To Be A Pack Of Painted Indians Like You Are, Or To Be Sensible Like Ralph Is? Which Is Better -- To Have Rules And Agree, Or To Hunt And Kill? Which Is Better, Law And Rescue, Or Hunting And Breaking Things Up?

While I Am On, I Can Discipline Myself To That Extent. When I Am Off, I Can't Discipline Myself At All. On The Other Hand, When I Am Off, There Are So Many Things I Like Doing, It Doesn't Really Matter.