...what Was The Good Of

I Have To Move Away From Organized Religion. The Toxic Confusion And Anger I Was Feeling In Church Had Become Too Great.

Then, Are You Master Of Us All? You Didn't Teach Her That. Was She Supposed To Imbibe It From My Quiet Subservience?

That Process By Which You Become A Writer Is A Pretty Lonely One. We Don't Have A Group Apprenticeship Like A Violinist Might Training For An Orchestra.

Suffering Of Sentient Beings Is Like Decay; It Fertilizes The Growth Of Their Souls.

I Was Typing Away While Everybody Was Dropping Acid And Smoking Grass. I Was Known As My Own Square.