She's...just A Girl, You Know. Like Most

..which Should Teach You Something About This World. That It's A Place Where Whatever You Work For And Care About Is Bound To Be Taken Away From You Sooner Or Later, And There Isn't A Thing You Can Do About It.

We Always Think We Are Right, And - Search As I Have - There Is No Evil Under The Sun That Somebody Somewhere Won't Argue Is Actually A Good, No Idiocy That Hasn't Got Its Perfectly Serious Defenders, And No Tyrant, Past Or Present - No Matter How Bloody - Without Some Bunch Of Zealot Schmucks To Defend Him Or His Reputation Till The Last Breath In Their Bodies - Or Preferably Somebody Else's.

The Paintings Of Francis Bacon To My Eye Are Very Beautiful. The Paintings Of Bosch Or Goya Are To My Eye Very Beautiful. I've Also Stood In Front Of Those Same Paintings With People Who've Said, 'let's Get On To The Botticellis As Soon As Possible.' I Have Lingered, Of Course.

The Moon Had Risen Behind Him, The Color Of A Shark's Underbelly. It Lit The Ruined Walls, And The Skin Of His Arms And Hands, With Its Sickly Light, Making Him Long For A Mirror In Which To Study His Face. Surely He'd Be Able To See The Bones Beneath The Meat; The Skull Gleaming The Way His Teeth Gleamed When He Smiled. After All, Wasn't That What A Smile Said? Hello, World, This Is The Way I'll Look When The Wet Parts Are Rotted.

I Don't Like Pg-13 Horror Movies. I Think They're A Contradiction In Terms.