One day, tens of millions of years from now, someone will find me rusted into the mud of a world they have never seen, and when they crumble me between their fingers, it will be you they find.

It's not the one thing nor the other that leads to madness, but the space in between.

What I want does exist if I dare to find it.

Somewhere between fear and sex passion is.

She hated being a nobody and like all children, adopted or not, I have had to live out some of her unlived life. We do that for our parents - we don't really have any choice.

When she bleeds the smells I know change colour. There is iron in her soul on those days. She smells like a gun.

I've lived my life like a serial killer; finish with one part, strangle it and move on to the next. Life in neat little boxes is life in neat little coffins, the dead bodies of the past laid out side by side. I am discovering, now, in the late afternoon of the day, that the dead still speak.