There Is No Person Without A World.

Love Is A Good Place To Situate Our Distrust Of Fake Women.

The Self Forms At The Edge Of Desire, And A Science Of Self Arises In The Effort To Leave That Self Behind.

You Can Never Know Enough, Never Work Enough, Never Use The Infinitives And Participles Oddly Enough, Never Impede The Movement Harshly Enough, Never Leave The Mind Quickly Enough.

Meanwhile Music Pounded / Across Hearts Opening Every Valve To The Desperate Drama Of Being / A Self In A Song.

The Greek Language Seems Different Than Other Languages. I'm Not The Only Person To Think This. Usually, I Come Up With Some Kind Of Dopey Metaphor For Why It's Different. But It Seems, Somehow, More Original, More Like Being In The Morning Of Language.