Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?

Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.

[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.

The sanest thing in this world is love.

The body is a damn hard thing to kill.

Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.

I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.