For Every Kind Of Vampire, There Is

There Is Nothing So Loathsome As A Sentimental Surrealist.

What’s This? What Are The Antagonists Doing Here – Infiltrating Their Own Audience? Well, They’re Not Really. It’s Somebody Else’s Audience At The Moment, And These Nightly Spectacles Are An Appreciable Part Of The Darkside Hours Of Life Of The Rocket Capital. The Chances For Any Paradox Here, Really, Are Less Than You Think.

Not Me, Paranoia's The Garlic In Life's Kitchen, Right, You Can Never Have Too Much.

So Generation After Generation Of Men In Love With Pain And Passivity Serve Out Their Time In The Zone, Silent, Redolent Of Faded Sperm, Terrified Of Dying, Desperately Addicted To The Comforts Others Sell Them, However Useless, Ugly Or Shallow, Willing To Have Life Defined For Them By Men Whose Only Talent Is For Death.

If The World Offered Nothing, Nowhere To Support Or Make Bearable Whatever Her Private Grief Was, Then It Is That World, And Not She, That Is At Fault.