Of All The Rash And Midnight Promises

I Don't Take Accusations Of Selling Out Lightly.

Study Nothing Except In The Knowledge That You Already Knew It. Worship Nothing Except In Adoration Of Your True Self. And Fear Nothing Except In The Certainty That You Are Your Enemy's Begetter And Its Only Hope Of Healing.

The Moon Had Risen Behind Him, The Color Of A Shark's Underbelly. It Lit The Ruined Walls, And The Skin Of His Arms And Hands, With Its Sickly Light, Making Him Long For A Mirror In Which To Study His Face. Surely He'd Be Able To See The Bones Beneath The Meat; The Skull Gleaming The Way His Teeth Gleamed When He Smiled. After All, Wasn't That What A Smile Said? Hello, World, This Is The Way I'll Look When The Wet Parts Are Rotted.

The Sun Rose Like A Stripper, Keeping Its Glory Well Covered By Cloud Till It Seemed There'd Be No Show At All.

Well, Here He Was. They Could Save Each Other, The Way The Poets Promised Lovers Should. He Was Mystery, He Was Darkness, He Was All She Had Dreamed Of. And If She Would Only Free Him He Would Service Her - Oh Yes - Until Her Pleasure Reached That Threshold That, Like All Thresholds, Was A Place Where The Strong Grew Stronger, And The Weak Perished. Pleasure Was Pain There, And Vice Versa. And He Knew It Well Enough To Call It Home.