Men And The World Are Mutually Toxic

In My Writing I Even Question The Universe; I Wonder Out Loud If It Is Real, And I Wonder Out Loud If All Of Us Are Real.

But At Least He Can Still See The Lights Below Us. Although Maybe For Him It Doesn't Matter.

There Is Evil! It's Actual, Like Cement. I Can't Believe It. I Can't Stand It. Evil Is Not A View ... It's An Ingredient In Us. In The World. Poured Over Us, Filtering Into Our Bodies, Minds, Hearts, Into The Pavement Itself.

All Responsible Writers, To Some Degree, Have Become Involuntary Criers Of Doom, Because Doom Is In The Wind

The Mentally Disturbed Do Not Employ The Principle Of Scientific Parsimony: The Most Simple Theory To Explain A Given Set Of Facts. They Shoot For The Baroque.