You'll Have Pie In The Sky When

She Breathed Deeply Of The Scent Of Decaying Fiction, Disintegrating History, And Forgotten Verse, And She Observed For The First Time That A Room Full Of Books Smelled Like Dessert: A Sweet Snack Made Of Figs, Vanilla, Glue, And Cleverness.

Maybe All The Schemes Of The Devil Were Nothing Compared To What Man Could Think Up.

I Felt Like It Needed Some Color Down There, So I Painted The Walls With The Motherfucker.

If You Didn't Have Me To Rake You Over The Coals Now And Then, There Wouldn't Be Any Fire In Your Life At All.

That Was One Thing You Found Out When You Were Stoned, Or Wasted, Or Feverish: That The World Was Always Turning And That Only A Healthy Mind Could Block Out The Sickening Whirl Of It.