Time Is Never Wasted If You Remember

So Generation After Generation Of Men In Love With Pain And Passivity Serve Out Their Time In The Zone, Silent, Redolent Of Faded Sperm, Terrified Of Dying, Desperately Addicted To The Comforts Others Sell Them, However Useless, Ugly Or Shallow, Willing To Have Life Defined For Them By Men Whose Only Talent Is For Death.

Laboring Through A World Every Day More Stultified, Which Expected Salvation In Codes And Governments, Ever More Willing To Settle For Suburban Narratives And Diminished Payoffs--what Were The Chances Of Finding Anyone Else Seeking To Transcend That, And Not Even Particularly Aware Of It?

The General Public Has Long Been Divided Into Two Parts; Those Who Think That Science Can Do Anything And Those Who Are Afraid It Will.

You Go From Dream To Dream Inside Me. You Have Passage To My Last Shabby Corner, And There, Among The Debris, You’ve Found Life. I’m No Longer Sure Which Of All The Words, Images, Dreams Or Ghosts Are ‘yours’ And Which Are ‘mine.’ It’s Past Sorting Out.

If The World Offered Nothing, Nowhere To Support Or Make Bearable Whatever Her Private Grief Was, Then It Is That World, And Not She, That Is At Fault.