The Slope Takes You To

I Take With Me The Conscience Of Defeat As A Victory Banner.

The Chill Of What I Won't Feel Gnaws At My Present Heart.

To Think Is To Destroy.

I’m Losing My Taste For Everything, Including Even My Taste For Finding Everything Tasteless.

My Happiest Hours Are Those In Which I Think Nothing, Want Nothing, When I Do Not Even Dream, But Lose Myself In Some Spurious Vegetable Torpor, Moss Growing On The Surface Of Life. Without A Trace Of Bitterness I Savour My Absurd Awareness Of Being Nothing, A Mere Foretaste Of Death And Extinction.