alone with everybodythe flesh covers the boneand they put a mindin there andsometimes a soul,and the women breakvases against the wallsand them men drink toomuchand nobody finds theonebut they keeplookingcrawling in and outof beds.flesh coversthe bone and theflesh searchesfor more thanflesh.there's no chanceat all:we are all trappedby a singularfate.nobody ever findsthe one.the city dumps fillthe junkyards fillthe madhouses fillthe hospitals fillthe graveyards fillnothing elsefills.

the worst thing," he told me,"is bitterness, people end up sobitter.

she slammed the door andwas gone.I looked at the closed doorand at the doorknoband strangelyI didn't feelalone.

regret is mostly caused by not havingdone anything.

If I never see you again I will always carry youinsideoutsideon my fingertipsand at brain edgesand in centerscentersof what I am ofwhat remains.

My Dear,Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover.-Falsely yours

girlsplease give yourbodies and yourlivestothe young menwhodeserve thembesidesthere isno wayI would welcometheintolerabledullsenseless hellyou would bringmeandI wish youluckin bedandoutbut notinminethankyou.

there's no clarity.there was never meant to be clarity.

when we were kidslaying around the lawnon ourbellies we often talkedabouthowwe'd like todie andwe allagreed on thesamething; we'd alllike to diefucking (althoughnone of ushaddone anyfucking) and nowthatwe are hardlykidsany longer we think moreabouthownot todie andalthoughwe'reready most ofuswouldprefer todo italone under thesheets nowthat most ofus have fuckedour livesaway.