It Is Simply Wrong To Begin With

Information. What's Wrong With Dope And Women? Is It Any Wonder The World's Gone Insane, With Information Come To Be The Only Real Medium Of Exchange?

For A Moment She'd Wondered If The Seal Around Her Sockets Were Tight Enough To Allow The Tears Simply To Go On And Fill Up The Entire Lens Space And Never Dry. She Could Carry The Sadness Of The Moment With Her That Way Forever, See The World Refracted Through Those Tears, Those Specific Tears, As If Indices As Yet Unfound Varied In Important Ways From Cry To Cry.

There Is Nothing So Loathsome As A Sentimental Surrealist.

What, I Should Only Trust Good People? Man, Good People Get Bought And Sold Every Day. Might As Well Trust Somebody Evil Once In A While, It Makes No More Or Less Sense.

She May Know A Little, May Think Of Herself, Face And Body, As ‘pretty’…but He Could Never Tell Her All The Rest, How Many Other Living Things, Birds, Nights Smelling Of Grass And Rain, Sunlit Moments Of Simple Peace, Also Gather In What She Is To Him.