History Does Not Unfold: It Piles Up.

You Are The Self, That Perfect Immutable Self. Nothing Else Exists. Nothing Else Ever Existed. Nothing Else Will Ever Exist. There Is Only One Self And You Are That. Rejoice!

Are There Grounds Now And Then For An Unironic Smile?

Within You Is The Light Of A Thousand Suns. - Within You Is Unimaginable Beauty.

Darkroom Work Had, After All, Never Interested Me Except As A Means To An End; The Place I Wanted To Be Was Outside In The Light.

...assume That Art Begins In Unhappiness. True, The Goal Of Art Is To Convey A Vision Of Coherence And Peace, But The Effort To Develop That Vision Starts In The More Common Experience Of Confusion And Pain.