Write About What You're Afraid Of.

Naked Girls With The Heads Of Marx And Malraux Prone And Helpless In The Glare Of The Headlights, Tried To Give Them A Little Joie De Vivre But Maybe It Didn't Take, Their Constant Bickering And Smallness, It's Like A Stroke Of Lightning, The World Reminds You Of Its Power, Tracheotomies Right And Left, I Am Spinning, My Pretty Child, Don't Scratch, Pick Up Your Feet, The Long Nights, Spent Most Of My Time Listening, This Is A Test Of The System, This Is Only A Test.

The World Is Sagging, Snagging, Scaling, Spalling, Pilling, Pinging, Pitting, Warping, Checking, Fading, Chipping, Cracking, Yellowing, Leaking, Stalling, Shrinking, And In Dynamic Unbalance.

The Privileged Classes Can Afford Psychoanalysis And Whiskey. Whereas All We Get Is Sermons And Sour Wine. This Is Manifestly Unfair. I Protest, Silently.

Is Death That Which Gives Meaning To Life?

The Aim Of Literature ... Is The Creation Of A Strange Object Covered With Fur Which Breaks Your Heart.