Killing Makes Me Feel Good.

For The First Time I Could Remember, I Felt Weak, Woozy And Stupid— Like A Human-being. Like A Very Small And Helpless Human-being.

Dying Makes Everyone Weaker, Subject To Painful Insight, And Not Always Insight Into Any Kind Of Special Truth - It's Just The Approaching End That Makes People Want To Believe They Are Seeing Something In The Line Of A Great Revelation.

Another Dream. Another Long-distance Call On My Phantom Party Line. No Wonder I Had Steadfastly Refused To Have Dreams For Most Of My Life. So Stupid; Such Pointless, Obvious Symbols. Totally Uncontrollable Anxiety Soup, Hateful, Blatant Nonsense.

I'm A Very Neat Monster.

And Here I Always Thought Morality Was Useless.