What Is Real Is Always

In A Perverse Way, I Was Glad For The Stitches, Glad It Would Show, That There Would Be Scars. What Was The Point In Just Being Hurt On The Inside? It Should Bloody Well Show.

I Think We're Starved For A Life Of The Senses. We're In The Garage, We're In The Car, We Drive To Work, We're In A Windowless Cubicle That's Gray And Beige. In A Way, It's Funny That We Consider Ourselves An Advanced Culture, Because People Who Live In So-called Primitive Environments Still Enjoy The Richness Of The Smells, Colors, And Sounds Of Our World. We All Crave That.

As A Person With Terrible Handwriting, I Love The Computer. I've Waited All My Life For The Computer.

I Wondered Where He Was Now Whether I Would Ever Hear Him Again. Whether Someone Would Love Him, Someday Show Him What Beauty Mean't.

Never Apologize. Never Explain.