To Call You Excrement Would Be An

One Of The Things I'm Trying To Do Over And Over Again In My Books Is Create New Mythologies, Create New Ways To Understand The Complexity Of The World. I Think What Mythology Does Is Impress Upon Chaotic Experience The Patterns, Hierarchies And Shapes Which Allow Us To Interpret The Chaos And Make Fresh Sense Of It.

She Had Opened A Door... And Now She Was Walking With Demons. And At The End Of Her Travels, She Would Have Her Revenge... Pain Had Made A Sadist Of Her.

The Moon Had Risen Behind Him, The Color Of A Shark's Underbelly. It Lit The Ruined Walls, And The Skin Of His Arms And Hands, With Its Sickly Light, Making Him Long For A Mirror In Which To Study His Face. Surely He'd Be Able To See The Bones Beneath The Meat; The Skull Gleaming The Way His Teeth Gleamed When He Smiled. After All, Wasn't That What A Smile Said? Hello, World, This Is The Way I'll Look When The Wet Parts Are Rotted.

You Have To Taste The Sour Urine Before You Break The Jug.

My Imagination Is My Polestar; I Steer By That.