Atrophy Of Feeling Creates Criminals.

My Life Is Slowed Up By Thought And The Need To Understand What I Am Living.

I Stopped Loving My Father A Long Time Ago. What Remained Was The Slavery To A Pattern.

Sexual Intercourse... A Joyous, Joyous, Joyous, Joyous Impaling Of Woman On Man's Sensual Mast.

Houses Turn To Corpses Overnight When We Cease To Live And Love In Them.

Self-destructive Patterns Cause As Much Suffering As Outer Catastrophes.