It's A True Image, Born Of A

I'm Homosexual. How And Why Are Idle Questions. It's A Little Like Wanting To Know Why My Eyes Are Green.

Anyone Who Hasn't Experienced The Ecstasy Of Betrayal Knows Nothing About Ecstasy At All.

Slowly But Surly I Want To Strip Her Of Every Kind Of Happiness As To Make A Saint Of Her.

Perhaps All Music, Even The Newest, Is Not So Much Something Discovered As Something That Re-emerges From Where It Lay Buried In The Memory, Inaudible As A Melody Cut In A Disc Of Flesh. A Composer Lets Me Hear A Song That Has Always Been Shut Up Silent Within Me.

I Give The Name Violence To A Boldness Lying Idle And Enamored Of Danger.