I Grow Old On My Bitterness.

Evil Is Maybe Lying To God. Or Better, Lying To Love.

Talk To Me About Sadness. I Talk About It Too Much In My Own Head But I Never Mind Others Talking About It Either; I Occasionally Feel Like I Tremendously Need Others To Talk About It As Well.

Take Your Foot Out Of The Graveyard, They Are Busy Being Dead.

My Ideas Are A Curse. They Spring From A Radical Discontent With The Awful Order Of Things. I Play Clown. I Play Carpenter. I Play Nurse. I Play Witch.

I Imitatea Memory Of Beliefthat I Do Not Own.