Personally I Have No Bone To Pick

There's Something Dripping In My Head. A Heart, A Heart In My Head.

I Want Very Much To Be Back In The Caul, On My Back In The Dark Forever.

Art Has Always Been This--pure Interrogation, Rhetorical Question Less The Rhetoric--whatever Else It May Have Been Obliged By Social Reality To Appear.

Vladimir: Did I Ever Leave You? Estragon: You Let Me Go.

I Pause To Record That I Feel In Extraordinary Form. Delirium Perhaps.