Get Thee Behind Me, Tragedy.

Dear God, Help Me. Do Not Forget Me On This Tiny Cinder Lost In A Galaxy That Is Lost–a Heart No Bigger Than A Speck Of Dust Beating, Beating Against Death, Against Meaninglessness, Against Guilt, Against Sorrow.

I’d Thought I Knew What Beauty Was In Women; But She’d Surpassed All The Language I Had For It.

Curses Of Vanished Elders Echoed Down On Me; Too Pretty, Too Soft, Too Pale, Eyes Far Too Full Of The Devil, Ah, That Devilish Smile

Wasn't It His Right To Listen To Opera, Read Poetry And Adventure Novels, Go To Europe Every Couple Of Months For Some Reason Or Another, And Drive His Porsche Over The Speed Limit Until He Found Out Who He Was?

I Love New Orleans Physically. I Love The Trees And The Balmy Air And The Beautiful Days. I Have A Beautiful House Here.