If I’d Been Talking About Black Trash,

I'm Still An Obsessive Personality, And I Still Think I'm Right, And I Still Believe My Literary Balls Hang Far Lower Than Nearly Anyone Else's Alive.

Plenty Of People Have Bad Divorces, But Few Of Them End Up With Cancer, Imprisonment, And Public Scorn. In The Dark, Rolling, Treacherous Wake Of That Sunken Ship, The Last Thing I Sought Was A "relationship" Or, Heaven Forbid, Marriage.

What You Accomplish In Life Is Limited Only By Your Imagination And The Fear Of Reprisal. Life Is Too Fleeting And Unrewarding To Have To Live With The Added Anus Of Indignity. The Denial Of One's Inevitable Demise Is What Causes Most Of The Astringent Blandness In The World. When Your Existence Ends Most Certainly In Death, There Is No Such Thing As 'going Too Far'. There Are No 'lines' You Should Fear To Cross Except The Finish Line. Playing It Safe Is The Most Dangerous Thing You Could Do.

The Idea That The Reader Is Important Enough To Me That I'd Tailor My Words To Either Please Or Offend Them Always Seems Amusingly Alien To Me.

I Certainly Didn't Emerge From Prison Regretting Anything I Ever Wrote, Nor Did I Feel Remorse For My Crime In The Least.