I Don't Want To Die.

You Can Still Die When The Sun Is Shining.

Satan, Really, Is The Romantic Youth Of Jesus Re-appearing For A Moment.

And The First Till Last Alshemist Wrote Over Every Square Inch Of The Only Foolscap Available, His Own Body, Till By Its Corrosive Sublimation One Continuous Present Tense Integument Slowly Unfolded All Marryvoising Moodmoulded Cyclewheeling History.

I'll Tickle His Catastrophe.

In Woman's Womb Word Is Made Flesh But In The Spirit Of The Maker All Flesh That Passes Becomes The Word That Shall Not Pass Away. This Is The Postcreation.