Home Pulls. It Draws You Back To

With Adolescent Egotism And A Lot Of Money One Can Pretty Much Rule The World.

You Can't Blame Me. I Mean That Literally. You're Incapable Of Blaming Me. You're Human. Being Human Is Choosing Freedom Over Imprisonment, Autonomy Over Dependency, Liberty Over Servitude. You Can't Blame Me Because You Know (come On, Man, You've Always Known) That The Idea Of Spending Eternity With Nothing To Do Except Praise God Is Utterly Unappealing. You'd Be Catatonic After An Hour. Heaven's A Swiz Because To Get In You Have To Leave Yourself Outside. You Can't Blame Me Because -- Now Do Please Be Honest With Yourself For Once -- You'd Have Left, Too.

I Don't Remember The First Image Of A Werewolf I Saw, But I Suspect It Was The Hybrid Type, Up On Two Legs, With Long Limbs, Hair, Claw-like Fingernails And Lupine Head. To Me There's Nothing Scary About Complete Transformation From Human Into Wolf. Wolves Aren't Scary. They're Dangerous, Yes, But So Are Geese, In The Wrong Mood. What's Scary Is Seeing The Human In The Wolf But Knowing It's Beyond The Reach Of Reason Or Emotional Appeal. That's Where The Horror And Dread Kicks In.

I Don’t Know Where The Universe Came From Or What Happens To Creatures When They Die. I Don’t Know If The Whole Thing’s An Unravelling Accident Or An Inscrutable Design. I Don’t Know How One Should Live—but I Know That One Should Live, If One Can Possibly Bear It.

The Rain's Been Racing Earthwards As If With Some Religious Or Political Fanaticism. The Clouds Have The Look Of Dark Internal Bleeding. Surely You Lot Look Up From Cosmo While This Sort Of Thing's Going On? Surely You Take A Playstation Break?