Grace Only Exists To Be

One Knows One's Madnesses, By And Large. By And Large The Knowledge Is Vacuous. The Notion Of Naming The Beast To Conquer It Is The Idiot Optimism Of Psychotherapy.

The Rain's Been Racing Earthwards As If With Some Religious Or Political Fanaticism. The Clouds Have The Look Of Dark Internal Bleeding. Surely You Lot Look Up From Cosmo While This Sort Of Thing's Going On? Surely You Take A Playstation Break?

That's What Happens When You Keep A Secret From Someone You Love: You Start To Hate Them For Allowing You To Prove Your Own Willingness To Deceive Them.

Bliss Defies Description, Obviously, Since It Annihilates You, Since You're Not There To Experience It. You Get The Lead-up And The Come-down, Never The Zenith.

When You're A Kid It's People's Cruelty That Makes You Cry, Then When You're An Adult It's Their Kindness.