Fear Is A Place Where You Just

The Monsters Act Out Our Rage. They Act On Their Worst Impulses, Which Is Appealing To A Certain Part Of Us. They Get Punished For It, But We've Enjoyed The Spectacle Of Their Liberation.

We Burn So Hard, But We Shed So Little Light; It Makes Us Crazy And Sad.

Let The Mad Find Wisdom In Their Madness For The Sane, And Let The Sane Be Grateful.

To Call You Excrement Would Be An Insult To The Product Of My Bowels.

The Paintings Of Francis Bacon To My Eye Are Very Beautiful. The Paintings Of Bosch Or Goya Are To My Eye Very Beautiful. I've Also Stood In Front Of Those Same Paintings With People Who've Said, 'let's Get On To The Botticellis As Soon As Possible.' I Have Lingered, Of Course.