In my art there is the image of the true coward, that behind closed doors a fear that overcomes him, that his crimes might have already been discovered.

Don't let me vanish again because I am sick of the world.

What I see going on is a weak response to things really happening. Its not good, and we got to do better.

I am watched, I see an owl in a tree, seems so wild on a cord as eyes widen, to stretch its boney beak, and shriek over my head, I run, and it follows as the venom of the ivy gets to my legs, I slip and fall, the owl is gone, but there is much time for suffering, as my sensitive skin knows.

Fighters action is to win. Ukraine is amazing.

The Tall Thin came to the door and peered through, passing his eyes across the room, expected the doors to swing wide open and the stage to light up, heard a dog wimper.

Every thorn can die.

How to be yourself next year.