We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.
I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.
I love order. It's my dream. A world where all would be silent and still, and each thing in its last place, under the last dust.
Donโt wait to be hunted to hide, that was always my motto.
Light black. From pole to pole.
It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, ... what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.