What We Need Is Hatred. From It

Slowly But Surly I Want To Strip Her Of Every Kind Of Happiness As To Make A Saint Of Her.

Ah Those Knock-out Body Fluids: Blood, Sperm, Tears!

Erotic Play Discloses A Nameless World Which Is Revealed By The Nocturnal Language Of Lovers. Such Language Is Not Written Down. It Is Whispered Into The Ear At Night In A Hoarse Voice. At Dawn It Is Forgotten.

The Force Of What Was Called Panther Rhetoric Or Word Mongering Resided Not In Elegant Discourse But In Strength Of Affirmation (or Denial), In Anger Of Tone And Timbre. When The Anger Led To Action There Was No Turgidity Or Over-emphasis. Anyone Who Has Witnessed Political Rows Among The Whites Will Have To Admit That The Whites Aren't Overburdened With Poetic Imagination.

Solitude, As I Understand It, Does Not Signify An Unhappy State, But Rather Secret Royalty, Profound Incommunicability Yet A More Or Less Obscure Knowledge Of An Invulnerable Singularity.