I'm hopeless at looking into myself and trying to see how things are working and why.

I feel overestimated.

An artist is the magician put among men to gratify - capriciously - their urge for immortality.

There would be this algebraic equation with an equals sign in the middle, and all the components would have different letters of the alphabet. It would come out right with x+z^2+t/q=y+co, and the co would be clothes off!

I'm offended by things and take pathetic little stands against them.

the natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster. strangely enough it all works out in the end... it's a mystery.

I cannot say that I write with any social objective. One writes because one loves writing, really.