Where some god pissed a rain of reason to make things grow only to die.

There were always men looking for jobs in America. There were always all these usable bodies. And I wanted to be a writer. Almost everybody was a writer. Not everybody thought they could be a dentist or an automobile mechanic but everybody knew they could be a writer. Of those fifty guys in the room, probably fifteen of them thought they were writers. Almost everybody used words and could write them down, i.e., almost everybody could be a writer. But most men, fortunately, aren't writers, or even cab drivers, and some men - many men - unfortunately aren't anything.

Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?

I do not like to work and have no trade but i do like to eat, so this is basic, the basic training of slaves to fear.

my 6 foot goddess makes me laugh the laughter of the mutilated who still need love... she has saved me from everything that is not here

and love was lightning and remembrance

people run from rain but sit in bathtubs full of water.