When I'm Writing, The Darkness Is Always

In The Very Depths Of Hell, Do Not Demons Love One Another?

I Can’t Help Being A Gorgeous Fiend. It’s Just The Card I Drew.

We All Suffer Under A Curse, The Curse That We Know More Than We Can Endure, And There Is Nothing, Absolutely Nothing We Can Do About The Force And The Lure Of This Knowledge.

There Is A Horrifying Loneliness At Work In This Time. No, Listen To Me. We Lived Six And Seven To A Room In Those Days, When I Was Still Among The Living. The City Streets Were Seas Of Humanity; And Now In These High Buildings Dim-witted Souls Hover In Luxurious Privacy, Gazing Through The Television Window At A Faraway World Of Kissing And Touching. It Is Bound To Produce Some Great Fund Of Common Knowledge, Some New Level Of Human Awareness, A Curious Skepticism, To Be So Alone.

It Was As If The Empty Nights Were Made For Thinking Of Him. And Sometimes I Found Myself So Vividly Aware Of Him It Was As If He Had Only Just Left The Room And The Ring Of His Voice Were Still There. And Somehow, There Was A Disturbing Comfort In That, And, Despite Myself, I’d Envision His Face.