I want to work in revelations, not just spin silly tales for money. I want to fish as deep down as possible into my own subconscious in the belief that once that far down, everyone will understand because they are the same that far down.

Never dreaming, was I, poor Jack Duluoz, that the soul is dead. That from Heaven grace descends . . . No Doctor Pisspot Poorpail to tell me; no example inside my first and only skin. That love is the heritage, and cousin to death. That the only love can only be the first love, the only death the last, the only life within, and the only word . . . choked forever.

We are nothing. - Tomorrow we may be die. We are nothing. - You and me.

the golden eternity is { }

And the Hippos were boiled in their tanks!

I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.

Rocks are space, and space is illusion.