If there's any guy crazy enough to attack me, I'm going to show him the end of the world -- close up. I'm going to let him see the kingdom come with his own eyes. I'm going to send him straight to the southern hemisphere and let the ashes of death rain all over him and the kangaroos and the wallabies.

No matter where i go, i still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but i'm still the same incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that i can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as i'll come to defining myself.

[But] we accept irony through a device called metaphor. And through that we grow and become deeper human beings.

He does not exist here, with me, but flesh that does not exist will never die, and promises unmade are never broken.

I would stare at the grains of light suspended in that silent space, struggling to see into my own heart. What did I want? And what did others want from me? But I could never find the answers. Sometimes I would reach out and try to grasp the grains of light, but my fingers touched nothing.

The dead will always be dead, but we have to go on living.

When I wake up, my pillow’s cold and damp with tears. But tears for what? I have no idea.