If You Live In A Place For

I Hate You, God. I Hate You As Though You Actually Exist.

The Problem Of Pretending To Be Alive.

Lies Had Deserted Me, And I Felt As Lonely As Though They Had Been My Only Friends.

He Entered The Territory Of Lies Without A Passport For Return.

My Two Fingers On A Typewriter Have Never Connected With My Brain. My Hand On A Pen Does. A Fountain Pen, Of Course. Ball-point Pens Are Only Good For Filling Out Forms On A Plane.