What Sort Of God Would It Be,

With Little Wit And Ease To Suit Them, They Whirl In Narrow Circling Trails, Like Kittens Playing With Their Tails.

The Aim Of Living Is Life Itself.

When I Make A Mistake Everyone Can See It, But Not When I Lie.

The Deed Is Everything, The Glory Is Naught.

Painting And Tattooing The Body Is A Return To Animalism.