Shall I Project A World?

My Mother Is The War,' Declares Roger Mexico, Leaning Over To Open The Door.

Every Weirdo In The World Is On My Wavelength.

You Go From Dream To Dream Inside Me. You Have Passage To My Last Shabby Corner, And There, Among The Debris, You’ve Found Life. I’m No Longer Sure Which Of All The Words, Images, Dreams Or Ghosts Are ‘yours’ And Which Are ‘mine.’ It’s Past Sorting Out.

This Spiritualist, This Statistician, What Are You Anyway?

Not Me, Paranoia's The Garlic In Life's Kitchen, Right, You Can Never Have Too Much.