…there’s Nothing In The World More Fun

We Each Die Countless Little Deaths On Our Way To The Last. We Die Out Of Shame As Humiliation. We Perish From Despair. And, Of Course, We Die For Love.

Harvey Wasn't Interested In The Clothes, It Was The Masks That Mesmerized Him. They Were Like Snowflakes: No Two Alike. Some Were Made Of Wood And Of Plastic; Some Of Straw And Cloth And Papier-mâché. Some Were As Bright As Parrots, Others As Pale As Parchment. Some Were So Grotesque He Was Certain They'd Been Carved By Crazy People; Others So Perfect They Looked Like The Death Masks Of Angels. There Were Masks Of Clowns And Foxes, Masks Like Skulls Decorated With Real Teeth, And One With Carved Flames Instead Of Hair.

Your Flesh Is Killing Your Spirit. You Have Forsaken Yourself.

I Think That Horror Fiction Is One Of The Ways To Approach These Problems Of Death.

You Are My Beauty, My Body, Perfected. All I Was Drained Off Into You. When You Left, My Health Went With You - Leaving A Moral Morbidity I Smell In My Sleep. The Acts I Committed For The Love Of You. Acts I Can Never Forget. I Crawled Into The Bellies Of The Dead To Fish Out A Little Life... I Have An Appetite For It Now. I Have An Unrelenting Lust For Death.