No Tears, Please. It's A

I Dreamed I Spoke In Another's Language, I Dreamed I Lived In Another's Skin, I Dreamed I Was My Own Beloved, I Dreamed I Was A Tiger's Kin. I Dreamed That Eden Lived Inside Me, And When I Breathed A Garden Came, I Dreamed I Knew All Of Creation, I Dreamed I Knew The Creator's Name. I Dreamed--and This Dream Was The Finest-- That All I Dreamed Was Real And True, And We Would Live In Joy Forever, You In Me, And Me In You.

The World Had Seen So Many Ages: The Age Of Enlightenment; Of Reformation; Of Reason. Now, At Last, The Age Of Desire. And After This, An End To Ages; An End, Perhaps, To Everything.

The Monsters Act Out Our Rage. They Act On Their Worst Impulses, Which Is Appealing To A Certain Part Of Us. They Get Punished For It, But We've Enjoyed The Spectacle Of Their Liberation.

At Best You Can Hold Death At Bay, You Can Pretend It Isn't There; But To Deny It Totally Is A Sickness. And I Think That Horror Fiction Is One Of The Ways To Approach These Problems, And, Perversely Perhaps, To Enjoy A Vicarious Confrontation With Them.

Three Is The Number Of Those Who Do Holy Work; Two Is The Number Of Those Who Do Lover's Work; One Is The Number Of Those Who Do Perfect Evil Or Perfect Good.