Houses Are Full Of Things That Gather

We Are Nothing. - Tomorrow We May Be Die. We Are Nothing. - You And Me.

Rocks Are Space, And Space Is Illusion.

Never Dreaming, Was I, Poor Jack Duluoz, That The Soul Is Dead. That From Heaven Grace Descends . . . No Doctor Pisspot Poorpail To Tell Me; No Example Inside My First And Only Skin. That Love Is The Heritage, And Cousin To Death. That The Only Love Can Only Be The First Love, The Only Death The Last, The Only Life Within, And The Only Word . . . Choked Forever.

I'm Catholic And I Can't Commit Suicide, But I Plan To Drink Myself To Death.

I Wish The Whole World Was Dead Serious About Food Instead Of Silly Rockets And Machines And Explosives Using Everybody's Food Money To Blow Their Heads Off Anyway.