Let me go to hell, that's all I ask, and go on cursing them there, and them look down and hear me, that might take some of the shine off their bliss.

It was the only way to progress, to stop.

Hold the old holding hand. Hold and be held. Plod on and never recede. Slowly with never a pause plod on and never recede.

I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.

Silence and darkness were all I craved. Well, I get a certain amount of both. They being one.

Fail, fail again, fail better.

My work is a matter of fundamental sounds (no joke intended) made as fully as possible, and I accept responsibility for nothing else. If people want to have headaches among the overtones, let them. And provide their own aspirin.