New York Has An Electronic Heart.

Life Is A Process Of Becoming, A Combination Of States We Have To Go Through. Where People Fail Is That They Wish To Elect A State And Remain In It. This Is A Kind Of Death.

Idealism Is The Death Of The Body And The Imagination. All But Freedom, Utter Freedom, Is Death

Everything With Me Is Either Worship And Passion Or Pity And Understanding. I Hate Rarely, Though When I Hate. I Hate Murderously.

The Earth Is Heavy And Opaque Without Dreams.

We Travel, Some Of Us Forever, To Seek Other States, Other Lives, Other Souls.