No Purer Artist Exists Or

Chaos Needs No Allies, For It Dwells Like A Poison In Every One Of Us.

If All We Seek Is An Escape, What Does That Say About The World We Live In? That Village, That City, That Life? We Are Desperate With Our Dreams. What - Oh, What - Does That Say?

All Art Is An Intensely Vulnerable Gesture, And It Is Made With No Small Amounts Of Risk, And Fear. So, I Have Plenty Of Sympathy For Self-defense Mechanisms, Especially Among Artists.

Civilization After Civilization, It Is The Same. The World Falls To Tyranny With A Whisper. The Frightened Are Ever Keen To Bow To A Perceived Necessity, In The Belief That Necessity Forces Conformity, And Conformity A Certain Stability. In A World Shaped Into Conformity, Dissidents Stand Out, Are Easily Branded And Dealt With. There Is No Multitude Of Perspectives, No Dialogue. The Victim Assumes The Face Of The Tyrant, Self-righteous And Intransigent, And Wars Breed Like Vermin. And People Die.

The Only Death I Fear Is Dying Ignorant.