Home Pulls. It Draws You

That's What Happens When You Keep A Secret From Someone You Love: You Start To Hate Them For Allowing You To Prove Your Own Willingness To Deceive Them.

Bliss Defies Description, Obviously, Since It Annihilates You, Since You're Not There To Experience It. You Get The Lead-up And The Come-down, Never The Zenith.

One Knows One's Madnesses, By And Large. By And Large The Knowledge Is Vacuous. The Notion Of Naming The Beast To Conquer It Is The Idiot Optimism Of Psychotherapy.

Only Meaning Can Make A Difference And We All Know There's No Meaning. All Stories Express A Desire For Meaning, Not Meaning Itself. Therefore Any Difference Knowing The Story Makes Is A Delusion.

The Flesh Had Infinity In It. I Must Know Every Inch By Touch Yet Every Inch Renewed Its Mystery The Instant My Hand Moved On. Delightful Endless Futility.