I've been in Iraq, and it never occurred to me to go, 'Hey, this war is bogus,' to some guy who's 24 hours a day trying not to get shot at or blown up.

August, the summer's last messenger of misery, is a hollow actor.

The tasks I set out for myself are what I do to beat the perfect pointlessness of life.

It is impossible, after a certain point, to go back to a previous way of life, a previous way of thinking.

Anyone who wants to help me doesn't. Anyone who wants to kill me might. Anyone who wants to love me better not.

People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole. I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.

perfection. I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch.