Well, what do you expect? The Comedian is dead.

I suppose that the main drive is to find the edge of something and then throw myself over it.

There are people. There are stories. The people think they shape the stories, but the reverse if often closer to the truth. Stories shape the world. They exist independently of people, and in places quite devoid of man, there may yet be mythologies.

Magic and art tend to share a lot of the same language. They both talk about evocation, invocation, and conjuring.

Truly, whoever we are, wherever we reside, we exist upon the whim of murderers.

Remember, remember the fifth of November of gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gun powder treason should ever be forgot.

The dusk reeks of fornication and bad consciences.