I Don't Get Nearly Enough

Things Happen And Once They Start Happening You Pretty Much Just To Hold On For Dear Life And See Where They Drop You When They Stop.

The Facts Of His Existence Are Plain. I Know That He Will Never Silence Those Unspeakable Voices. He Heard How People Killed, And How They Died And Their Voices Infected Him, Coursed Through His Body, Poisoned Him. He Didn't Know How To Turn Off The Noise, Or Turn The Hate Back Out Onto The World Like The Rest Of Us. He Turned It On Himself. You Could See That From The Scars On Him.

This Was What Happiness Felt Like - This Wondrous, Miraculous Alternative To Dread.

I Can't Even Trust My Own Imaginary Dog. How Much Lower Can A Person Get?

Perhaps The Way To Succeed Is To Think Of Life On Earth As A Colossal Joke, A Creation Of Such Immense Stupidity That The Only Way To Live Is To Laugh Until You Think Your Heart Will Break.