All games contain the idea of death.

Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.

Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin We could plan a murder Or start a religion.

Take an Indian home to lunch.

That’s what real love amounts to - letting a person be what he really is....Most people love you for who you pretend to be....To keep their love, you keep pretending - performing. You get to love your pretense...It’s true, we’re locked in an image, an act...

In the holy solipsism of the young Now I can't walk thru a city street w/out eying each single pedestrian. I feel thier vibe thru my skin, the hair on my neck --- it rises.

Give form to the passing World. Freeways are a drama.