Where there is no waste, there is no want.
There were dreams once upon a time, dreams now all but forgotten. On sad days I dust them off and fondle them nostalgically, with a patronizing wonder at the naivete of the youth who dreamed them.
The only characters I've made to resemble real people have been grotesques.
Books are nothing but repositories for those lies the author wants his reader to believe.
Time will unfold its leaves.
I guess I suffer from an impoverishment of the sociopathic spirit necessary to go big time.
If one chooses sides on emotion then the rebel is the guy to go with. He is fighting for everything men claim to honour, freedom, independance, truth, the right.......all the subjective illusions. All the eternal trigger words. We are minions of the villan of the piece. We confess the illusion and deny the substance.
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