The Sun Rose Like A Stripper, Keeping

There’s No Conscious Thing On The Face Of The World That Doesn’t Know Dread More Intimately Than Its Own Heartbeat.

Your Flesh Is Killing Your Spirit. You Have Forsaken Yourself.

Nothing Ever Begins. There Is No First Moment; No Single Word Or Place From Which This Or Any Other Story Springs.

You’ve Always Got Me” “always?” “didn’t I Just Say So?” “yes” “am I Liar? “ “no.” I Lied.

I Haven't Even Had A Life I Could Call My Own, And You're Ready To Slot Me Into The Grand Design. Well, I Don't Think I Want To Go. I Want To Be My Own Design.