Home Pulls. It Draws You Back To

Nothing Holds Love Together Like Shared Vice Or Collusive Perversion.

Grace Only Exists To Be Fallen From.

Yes, Eden Was Beautiful- And If I Had To Squeeze Through Corporeal Keyholes To Crash It- So Be It. (hasn’t It Bothered You, This Part Of The Story, My Being There, I Mean? What Was I Doing There? ‘presume Not The Ways Of God To Scan,’ You’ve Been Told In Umpteen Variations, ‘the Proper Study Of Mankind Is Man.’ Maybe So, But What, Excuse Me, Was The Devil Doing In Eden?) I Took The Forms Of Animals. I Found I Could. (that’s Generally My Reason For Doing Something, By The Way, Because I Find I Can.)

Falling In Love Makes The Unknown Known. Falling Out Of Love Reverses The Process.

No Artist Knows Everything... But Since Every Artist Knows More Than He Can Tell, All Art Is Lying By Omission.