Myself ... Is Merely An Instrument To

Convalescence. Such An Utter Weakness That You Lie Like An Animal Hibernating, Playing Possum. You Float. You Are Adrift. Every Current Is Stronger Than You.

A Trite Word Is An Overused Word Which Has Lost Its Identity Like An Old Coat In A Second-hand Shop. The Familiar Grows Dull And We No Longer See, Hear, Or Taste It.

What Is Love But Acceptance Of The Other, Whatever He Is.

Violence Is A Symptom Of Impotence.

We Sit On The Kitchen Exchanging These Diabolical Outgrowths Of Overfertile Minds.