I Wrote Silences; Nights; I Recorded The

The Northern Lights Rise Like A Kiss To The Sea

It Is Wrong To Say: I Think. One Ought To Say: I Am Thought. I Is Someone Else.

I'm Now Making Myself As Scummy As I Can. Why? I Want To Be A Poet, And I'm Working At Turning Myself Into A Seer. You Won't Understand Any Of This, And I'm Almost Incapable Of Explaining It To You. The Idea Is To Reach The Unknown By The Derangement Of All The Senses. It Involves Enormous Suffering, But One Must Be Strong And Be A Born Poet. It's Really Not My Fault.

I Went Out Under The Sky, Muse! And I Was Your Vassal.

You Will Always Be A Hyena.