I've Got Death Inside Me. It's Just

It Occurred To Me That Eating Is The Only Form Of Professionalism Most People Ever Attain.

What Terrorists Gain, Novelists Lose.

The More Things I Threw Away, The More I Found.

Her Death Would Leave Me Scattered, Talking To Chairs And Pillows. Don't Let Us Die, I Want To Cry Out To That Fifth-century Sky Ablaze With Mystery And Spiral Light. Let Us Both Live Forever, In Sickness And Health, Feebleminded, Doddering, Toothless, Liver-spotted, Dim-sighted, Hallucinating. Who Decides These Things? What Is Out There? Who Are You?

It Is Interesting ... How Weapons Reflect The Soul Of The Maker.