Ah, Well. Life's Too Short For Moderation,

In Each Man's Heart There Lies A Hole. A Dark Abyss Of Need, The Filling Of Which Takes Precedence Over All Else.

Children Don’t Require Of Their Parents A Past And They Find Something Faintly Unbelievable, Almost Embarrassing, In Parental Claims To A Prior Existence.

My Fingers Positively Itched To Drift At Length Along Their Spines, To Arrive At One Whose Lure I Could Not Pass, To Pluck It Down, To Inch It Open, Then To Close My Eyes And Inhale The Soul-sparking Scent Of Old And Literate Dust.

But History Is A Faithless Teller Whose Cruel Recourse To Hindsight Makes Fools Of Its Actors.

When Reason Sleeps, The Monsters Of Repression Will Emerge.