Sure, I’m dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on the edge. We all are on the brink, and it takes a lot of nerve, a lot of energy, to teeter on the edge, looking over, looking down into the windy blackness and not being quite able to make out, through the yellow, stinking mist, just what lies below in the slime, in the oozing, vomit-streaked slime; and so I could go on, my thoughts, writing much, trying to find the core, the meaning for myself.

A man's world is different from a woman's world and a man's emotions are different from a woman's emotions and only marriage can bring the two different sets of emotions together properly.

The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

The blood jet is poetry and there is no stopping it.

The man creates a pseudonym and hides behind it like a worm

I hurl my heart to halt his pace.

Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls.