I Want A Bedroom Near The Sky,

I Write With Experiences In Mind, But I Don't Write About Them, I Write Out Of Them.

All Beauty, Resonance, Integrity, Exist By Deprivation Or Logic Of Strange Position.

A Yak Is A Prehistoric Cabbage; Of That, We Can Be Sure.

We Are Prisoners Of The World's Demented Sink. The Soft Enchantments Of Our Years Of Innocence Are Harvested By Accredited Experience Our Fondest Memories Soon Turn To Poison And Only Oblivion Remains In Season.

Until, Accustomed To Disappointments, You Can Let Yourself Rule And Be Ruled By These Strings Or Emanations That Connect Everything Together, You Haven't Fully Exorcised The Demon Of Doubt That Sets You In Motion Like A Rocking Horse That Cannot Stop Rocking.