Now Is The Autumn Of Our Ennui.

Maybe We Have To Break Everything To Make Something Better Out Of Ourselves.

Why Is It You Feel Like A Dope If You Laugh Alone, But That's Usually How You End Up Crying?

We're The Culture That Cried Wolf.

You’ve Thrown Down The Gauntlet. You’ve Brought My Wrath Down Upon Your House. Now, To Prove That I Exist I Must Kill You. As The Child Outlives The Father, So Must The Character Bury The Author. If You Are, In Fact, My Continuing Author, Then Killing You Will End My Existence As Well. Small Loss. Such A Life, As Your Puppet, Is Not Worth Living. But… If I Destroy You And Your Dreck Script, And I Still Exist… Then My Existence Will Be Glorious, For I Will Become My Own Master.

I Don't Remember The Hotel Rooms Or The Airports But I Always Remember The Events.