I Do Not Fear It: I Have

Don't Let The Wicked City Get You Down.

There Is A Certain Unique And Strange Delight About Walking Down An Empty Street Alone.

Perfection Is Terrible, It Cannot Have Children.

I Opened The Door And Blinked Out Into The Bright Hall. I Had The Impression It Wasn't Night And It Wasn't Day, But Some Lurid Third Interval That Had Suddenly Slipped Between Them And Would Never End.

I Want To Kill Myself, To Escape From Responsiblity, To Crawl Abjectly Back Into The Womb.