I'm Too Conceited For Therapy.

One Knows One's Madnesses, By And Large. By And Large The Knowledge Is Vacuous. The Notion Of Naming The Beast To Conquer It Is The Idiot Optimism Of Psychotherapy.

The Flesh Had Infinity In It. I Must Know Every Inch By Touch Yet Every Inch Renewed Its Mystery The Instant My Hand Moved On. Delightful Endless Futility.

What Interests Me Is Love, Sex, Death, Cruelty, Compassion And The Desire For Meaning In An Apparently Godless Universe. In Other Words The Human Condition.

Coffee Justifies The Existence Of The Word 'aroma'.

Grace Only Exists To Be Fallen From.