I Love You More Than

I Must Fight With All My Strength So That The Little Positive Things That My Health Allows Me To Do Might Be Pointed Toward Helping The Revolution. The Only Real Reason For Living.

I Want A Storm To Come And Flood Us Into A Song That No One Wrote.

I Paint Flowers So They Will Not Die.

I Wish I Could Do Whatever I Liked Behind The Curtain Of “madness”. Then: I’d Arrange Flowers, All Day Long, I’d Paint; Pain, Love And Tenderness, I Would Laugh As Much As I Feel Like At The Stupidity Of Others, And They Would All Say: “poor Thing, She’s Crazy!” (above All I Would Laugh At My Own Stupidity.) I Would Build My World Which While I Lived, Would Be In Agreement With All The Worlds. The Day, Or The Hour, Or The Minute That I Lived Would Be Mine And Everyone Else’s - My Madness Would Not Be An Escape From “reality”.

... There Is A Skeleton (or Death) That Flees Terrified In The Face Of My Will To Live.