Believe in me and die forever.

You tell yourself that noise is what defines silence. Without noise, silence would not be golden. Noise is the exception.

There are only patterns. Patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns, patterns hidden by patterns, patterns within patterns.

The air will always be to filled with something. Your body too sore or tired. Your father too drunk. Your wife too cold. You will always have some excuse not to live your life.

Suicide is very contagious.

I don't do much more than organise other people's ideas and insights and thoughts, and sort of harvest them, and inventory them and present them.

Anytime my work can coax bodily fluids out of someone, I'm happy.