Maybe That's What Hell Is. You Go

Oh, My Darling, Wish You Were Here! And My Dark Soul Is Happy Again, Because It Does Not Know How To Be Anything Else For Very Long, And Because The Pain Is A Deep Dark Sea In Which I Would Drown If I Did Not Sail My Little Craft Steadily Over The Surface, Steadily Towards A Sun Which Will Never Rise.

My Own Funeral, I'd Like To Be Laid Out In A Coffin In My Own House. I Would Like My Coffin To Be Put In The Double Parlor, And I Would Like All The Flowers To Be White.

Everyone Is A Potential Naked Slave To You Once You Become A Trainer.

I Was In The Black Silence Of A Medieval Street, And Blindly I Followed Its Sharp Turns, Comforted By The Height Of Its Narrow Tenements, Which Seemed At Any Moment Capable Of Falling Together, Closing This Alleyway Under Indifferent Stars Like A Seam.

Memory Was A Curse, Yes, He Thought, But It Was Also The Greatest Gift. Because If You Lost Memory You Lost Everything.