I see men assassinated around me every day. I walk through rooms of the dead, streets of the dead, cities of the dead; men without eyes, men without voices; men with manufactured feelings and standard reactions; men with newspaper brains, television souls and high school ideas.

Death meant little to me. It was the last joke in a series of bad jokes.

I was a bore and didn't know when to smile or fake it. Or rather worse, I did but didn't.

Love is a horse with a broken leg trying to stand while 45,000 people watch.

I write right off the typer. I call it my "machinegun." I hit it hard, usually late at night while drinking wine and listening to classical music on the radio and smoking mangalore ganesh beedies.

For each Joan of Arc there is a Hitler perched at the other end of the teeter-totter.

beware those quick to praise for they need praise in return beware those who are quick to censor they are afraid of what they do not know beware those who seek constant crowds for they are nothing alone beware the average man the average woman beware their love, their love is average seeks average