I wish you way more than luck.

I cannot say what color Lenore Beadsman’s eyes are; I cannot look at them; they are the sun to me.

It's probably hard to feel any sort of Romantic spiritual connection to nature when you have to make your living from it.

...the sun would leave my sky if I couldn't assume you'd simply come and tell me you were sad.

I know I'm paranoid, but am I paranoid enough?

Think of the old cliché about ‘the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master.’ This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in: the head.

It feels intensely twisted to see reigning industry queen Jenna Jameson chilling out at the Vivid booth in Jordaches and a latex bustier and to know already that she has a tattoo of a sundered valentine with the tagline Heart Breaker on her right buttock and a tiny hairless ole just left of her anus.