The Essential Doesn't Change.

Let Me Go To Hell, That's All I Ask, And Go On Cursing Them There, And Them Look Down And Hear Me, That Might Take Some Of The Shine Off Their Bliss.

God Is Love. Yes Or No? No.

Nothing Matters But The Writing. There Has Been Nothing Else Worthwhile... A Stain Upon The Silence.

My Work Is A Matter Of Fundamental Sounds (no Joke Intended) Made As Fully As Possible, And I Accept Responsibility For Nothing Else. If People Want To Have Headaches Among The Overtones, Let Them. And Provide Their Own Aspirin.

I Have Nothing But Wastes And Wilds Of Self-translation Before Me For Many Miserable Months To Come.