Somewhere Along The Line I

And This Is The Way A Novel Gets Written, In Ignorance, Fear, Sorrow, Madness, And A Kind Of Psychotic Happiness As An Incubator For The Wonders Being Born.

Because The Only People For Me Are The Mad Ones.

I Like It Because Its Ugly

All Our Best Men Are Laughed At In This Nightmare Land.

In My Medicine Cabinet, The Winter Fly Has Died Of Old Age.