It's Not My Fault If Reality Is

In Fact, If Christ Himself Stood In My Way, I, Like Nietzsche, Would Not Hesitate To Squish Him Like A Worm.

Wrapped In A Police Blanket, I Watched The Rain And Smoked One Black Cigarette After Another.

Once Again I Feel Beneath My Heels The Ribs Of Rocinante. Once More, I'm On The Road With My Shield On My Arm.

We Travel Just To Travel.

Silence Is Argument Carried Out By Other Means.