We Control The Content Of Our Dreams.

My Thoughts Are Crowded With Death And It Draws So Oddly On The Sexual That I Am Confused To Be Attracted By, In Effect, My Own Annihilation.

Thus For Each Blunt-faced Ignorant One The Great Grey Rigid Uniform Combined Safety With Virtue Of The Sun. Thus Concepts Linked Like Chainmail In The Mind.

I Had Assumed That I Would Age With All My Friends Growing Old Around Me, Dying Off Very Gradually One By One. And Here Was A Plague That Cut Them Off So Early.

The Painter Saw What Was, An Alternate Candor And Secrecy Inside The Skin.

I Was Reading The Poems Of Rochester. Rochester Made Himself Out To Be Bisexual, But I Think That Was Only To Shock. Most Of His Poetry Is Sexual, Even Pornographic.