Is Not This World An Illusion? And

Losing Their Names, These Things Underwent A Process Of Uncreation.

Some Cities Are Women And Must Be Loved; Others Are Men And Can Only Be Admired Or Bargained With

He Is The Intermediary Between Us, His Audience, The Living, And They, The Dolls, The Undead, Who Cannot Live At All And Yet Who Mimic The Living In Every Detail Since, Though They Cannot Speak Or Weep, Still They Project Those Signals Of Signification We Instantly Recognize As Language.

A Mother Is Always A Mother, Since A Mother Is A Biological Fact, Whilst A Father Is A Movable Feast.

All Artists, They Say, Are A Little Mad. This Madness Is, To A Certain Extent, A Self-created Myth Designed To Keep The Generality Away From The Phenomenally Close-knit Creative Community. Yet, In The World Of The Artists, The Consciously Eccentric Are Always Respectful And Admiring If Those Who Have The Courage To Be Genuinely A Little Mad.