There Is No Grace: There Is No

The Ordinary Man Looking At A Mountain Is Like An Illiterate Person Confronted With A Greek Manuscript.

He Shall Fall Down Into A Pit Called Because, And There He Shall Perish With The Dogs Of Reason.

Your Friends Will Notice At Once That Glib Vacuities Fail To Impress, And Hate You, And Tell Lies About You. It's Worth It.

A Madhouse Of Frenzied Moneymaking And Frenzied Pleasure-seeking, With None Of The Corners Chipped Off. It Is Beautifully Situatedand The Air Reminds One Curiously Of Edinburgh.

I'm A Poet, And I Like My Lies The Way My Mother Used To Make Them.