I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again.

I talk to God but the sky is empty.

I am sure there are things that can't be cured by a good bath but I can't think of one.

If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.

It was sometime in October; she had long ago lost track of all the days and it really didn’t matter because one was like another and there were no nights to separate them because she never slept any more.

God, it was good to let go, let the tight mask fall off, and the bewildered, chaotic fragments pour out. It was the purge, the catharsis.