Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God.

I Take A Lot Of Flak From The Counter-establishment For Selling Out.

In The Big Factory Of Perfecting Human Souls, The Earth Was Kind Of Tumbler. The Sale As The Kind People Use To Polish Rocks. All Souls Come Here To Rub The Sharp Edges Off Each Other. This Isn't Suffering. It's Erosion.

The Amazing Miracle Of Death, When One Second You're Walking And Talking, And The Next Second You're An Object.

There Are People Out There Who Will Not Read Books, But Somehow They'll Read My Books.

You Have Endless Ways You Can Commit Suicide Without Dying Dying.