Unhappy, But Not Unhappy Enough.

My Life, My Life, Now I Speak Of It As Of Something Over, Now As Of A Joke Which Still Goes On, And It Is Neither, For At The Same Time It Is Over And It Goes On, And Is There Any Tense For That? Watch Wound And Buried By The Watchmaker, Before He Died, Whose Ruined Works Will One Day Speak Of God, To The Worms.

Humbly To Ask A Favour Of People Who Are On The Point Of Knocking Your Brains Out Sometimes Produces Good Results.

Nothing Happens. Nobody Comes, Nobody Goes. It's Awful.

Art Has Nothing To Do With Clarity, Does Not Dabble In The Clear And Does Not Make Clear

With All This Darkness Round Me I Feel Less Alone.