I haven't changed. Something's happened to me, that's all.

I began to feel lighthearted. Don't ever do that; it tempts some dark and evil force abroad in the universe.

Whatever the hell I am, I am Me.

She could not mourn. She could no longer weep grasping the essence of annihilation, she wished only to cease, to be no more, as if sunk in some profound sleep devoid of wakening.

The humble were the elect of God. Did not the priests teach so, in their gemmed, kingly robes, from their towering pulpits?

Im a devotee of Dracula, which was a pathfinder in horror and vampire fiction.

We need the expressive arts, the ancient scribes, the storytellers, the priests.