Will You Love Me In December As

You Seek Identity In The Midst Of Indistinguishab Le Chaos, In Sprawling Nameless Reality.

The Only People For Me Are The Mad Ones, The Ones Who Are Mad To Live, Mad To Talk, Mad To Be Saved, Desirous Of Everything At The Same Time, The Ones Who Never Yawn Or Say A Commonplace Thing, But Burn, Burn, Burn Like Fabulous Yellow Roman Candles Exploding Like Spiders Across The Stars.

I Was Suddenly Left With Nothing In My Hands But A Handful Of Crazy Stars.

I'd Rather Be Thin Than Famous But I'm Fat Paste That In Your Broadway Show

Remove Literary, Grammatical And Syntactical Inhibition.