Apocalypse Has Come And Gone. We're Just

Each Of Us, With Money, Gets Further And Further Away From Those Moments Where The Hand Pulls The Beet Root From The Soil, Shakes The Fish From The Net Into The Basket -- Not To Mention The Way It Separates Us From One Another, So That When Enough Money Comes Between People, They Lie Apart Like Parts Of A Chicken Hacked Up For Stewing.

The Strange Machinery By Which A Reputation Precedes Its Source We All Know Is Faulty. Yet How Much Faith We Put In It!

Endings To Be Useful Must Be Inconclusive.

But I Realized Something. About Art. And Psychiatry. They're Both Self-perpetuating Systems. Like Religion. All Three Of Them Promise You A Sense Of Inner Worth And Meaning, And Spend A Lot Of Time Telling You About The Suffering You Have To Go Through To Achieve It.

Babes, I Am So Bored Here That I Don't Think, Since I've Come, I've Ever Been More Than Three Minutes Away From Some Really Astonishing Act Of Violence.