The Humble Were The Elect Of God.

No One More Cynical Than An Idealist.

I Simply Write What I Want, Wish, Long To Write.... The State Of Human Life And The God Or Demon Within. The Constant Internal War That Being Alive Can Conjure.

It's Very Selfish When I Write. I'm Not Aware, Ever, Of Writing For Another Person; I'm Not Even Really Aware Of Writing For Myself.

There Was No Violence, No Speed. It Moved To The Rhythm Of An Elder Dance, Putting All The Rituals Of The World To Shame. Black, Silver, Gold And Moon-opal, Night And Sea, Fire, Earth, Air And Water.

If They Had Said My Writing Wasn't Good Enough, Fair Enough, That's An Opinion. But To Say It's Too Complex Is To Insult The Intelligence Of The So-called Young.