Only Someone Who Is Well Prepared Has

I Have A Lot Of Tics And Phobias. I Hate To Travel. I Hate To Go To Festivals. I Hate It When Somebody Gets Close Behind Me. I'm Scared Of The Darkness. I Hate Open Doors.

I'd Prostitute My Talents If It Would Further My Cause, Steal If There Was No Way Out, Killing My Friends Or Anyone Else If It Would Help My Art.

Our Social Relationships Are Limited, Most Of The Time, To Gossip And Criticizing People's Behavior. This Observation Slowly Pushed Me To Isolate From The So-called Social Life. My Days Pass By In Solitude.

Then I Felt That Every Inflection Of My Voice, Every Word In My Mouth, Was A Lie, A Play Whose Sole Purpose Was To Cover Emptiness And Boredom. There Was Only One Way I Could Avoid A State Of Despair And A Breakdown. To Be Silent. And To Reach Behind The Silence For Clarity Or At Least Try To Collect The Resources That Might Still Be Available To Me.

I Want To Be One Of The Artists In The Cathedral On The Great Plain. I Want To Make A Dragon's Head, An Angel, A Devil - Or Perhaps A Saint - Out Of Stone.