... Her Taste In Music Haunted My

There Are No More Barriers To Cross. All I Have In Common With The Uncontrollable And The Insane, The Vicious And The Evil, All The Mayhem I Have Caused And My Utter Indifference Toward It I Have Now Surpassed. My Pain Is Constant And Sharp And I Do Not Hope For A Better World For Anyone, In Fact I Want My Pain To Be Inflicted On Others. I Want No One To Escape, But Even After Admitting This There Is No Catharsis, My Punishment Continues To Elude Me And I Gain No Deeper Knowledge Of Myself; No New Knowledge Can Be Extracted From My Telling. This Confession Has Meant Nothing.

I Went To College In Vermont, And Then Stayed In The East Coast.

The Numbing Lists Of Things You Were Supposed To Have As An American To Make You Happy, Which Ultimately, Of Course, Don't. Those Aren't The Things That Make You Happy.

I Laugh Maniacally, Then Take A Deep Breath And Touch My Chest- Expecting A Heart To Be Thumping Quickly, Impatiently, But There's Nothing There, Not Even A Beat.

I Write Books To Relieve ­myself Of Pain. That's The Prime Motivator To Write. Period.