Writing Is Like Paying Myself A Formal

Property Isn't Theft: It's Nothing.

Could It Think, The Heart Would Stop Beating.

I Pass Times, I Pass Silences, Formless Worlds Pass Me By.

I Sometimes Think, With A Sad Delight, That If One Day, In A Future I No Longer Belong To, These Sentences, That I Write, Last With Praise, I Will At Last Have The People Who Understand Me, Those Mine, The True Family To Be Born In And Be Loved... I Will Only Be Understood In Effigy, When Affection No Longer Repays The Dead The Unaffection That Was, When Living.

Every Gesture Is A Revolutionary Act.