He Was A Tool Of The Boss,

I No Longer Know If I Wish To Drown Myself In Love, Vodka Or The Sea.

Some Books Seem Like A Key To Unfamiliar Rooms In One’s Own Castle.

Don't Bend; Don't Water It Down; Don't Try To Make It Logical; Don't Edit Your Own Soul According To The Fashion. Rather, Follow Your Most Intense Obsessions Mercilessly.

People Who Walk Across Dark Bridges, Past Saints, With Dim, Small Lights. Clouds Which Move Across Gray Skies Past Churches With Towers Darkened In The Dusk. One Who Leans Against Granite Railing Gazing Into The Evening Waters, His Hands Resting On Old Stones.

Every Word First Looks Around In Every Direction Before Letting Itself Be Written Down By Me.