He was a poet -oh all men are when they're in love.

I would like to write a suicide note in three and a halflanguagesand travel south on a Thursday towardssome form of life outside of earth

Fuck words, nothing spokencomprehends the defiantly ephemeral.I take my incompleteness with the rest, an exilein any language.

Forgetting: that, too, was the heart's slow way of healing, but it could only be done alone. Love and loss turns us into the most solitary of creatures, their mysteries can never entirely be shared.

There's a strong message of divine righteousness in dictatorships. Every megalomaniac has to believe his actions are sanctioned by God.

My angels are jellyfish,electric, nearly invisible,armed with poisoned harpoons.My archangels are yellow tang.They feed on sunlight.They speak through color.Anything in their paths turns blind.

... it's pointless to think in moral terms when everything is permissible. We have become the people we detest. We have lost the capacity to imagine what is forbidden We have been freed, in other words, from our own hypocrisy.

Let her remain where she is. A constellation away.

I'll remember your apocalypse if you'll remember mineIt will be a holiday of the senses