... What I Fear In Writing Is

[...] So Important To Believe In A Concept Of Goodness, Even If We Make It Up Ourselves. We Don't Really Make It Up. It's There, Isn't It?" "oh, Yes, It's There," She Said. "it's There Because We Put It There.

Handsome Enough' Is This Grim Reaper, Who Can Snuff All These 'brief Candles,' Every Fluttering Soul Sucking The Air, From This Hall" -the Vampire Lestat

And Then There Came The Pounding Of Another Drum, As If Another Giant Were Coming Yards Behind Him, And Each Giant, Intent On His Own Drum, Gave No Notice To The Rhythm Of The Other. The Sound Grew Louder And Louder Until It Seemed To Fill Not Just My Hearing But All My Senses, To Be Throbbing In My Lips And Fingers, In The Flesh Of My Temples, In My Veins.

The Fans, The Vampire Groupies, Love The Idea Of This Androgynous, Preternatural Figure Stalking The Night, And Craving Aesthetic Pleasure Just As He Craves Blood, Wearing Only The Best Velvet Clothes, And Savoring Red Roses.

Dear God, Help Me. Do Not Forget Me On This Tiny Cinder Lost In A Galaxy That Is Lost–a Heart No Bigger Than A Speck Of Dust Beating, Beating Against Death, Against Meaninglessness, Against Guilt, Against Sorrow.