"In the rain, in the midst of the dark grey season, in which I would cry, in which i was always low and felt my lip quiver with my gut, I found myself isolated from the greater society around me. I felt a sudden beauty in this one day when feeling pangs of guilt when lying to a cop. I felt that in my hatred for this life, in my utter reduction to distance from it, in my falling away, I had gained the beauty of what could be, of the motion and will of a being such as myself, put into motion with the energies that flowed from a brain creating, from a mind putting itself into contortions to bring more than a description but an experience, a transcendent ritual in the vastness of what is communicated by allegorical means. I felt in my hatred the beauty of my work, in the power of the expended gesture, the completion of the thought and the opening of a new passageway in the great dessication of light. There had once been a paradigm of goodness and wholesomeness, and all that was wanted to be like other things, to be a portion of what existed already, to be more compatible than communicative. This was dessicating at the face of the universal eye. We saw all of it on our televisions, and we wanted more. We saw the corpses and the explosions and we began to interpret our own cynical comments. We built our dissonant empires as if we were the progeny of the generation before, the slow-moving and depressingly normative mental recluses we had had for parents. And then we began to fall, burning angels dropping from heaven, arcing slowly in the orbit of a seagull or a vulture. A vulva. We felt the isolate presence of history in our lives, and the homogenized insensitivity of the thickening mats of people we intersected in our daily walks around the streets, in our presence in stores, at parties sometimes, on the sidewalk. My hate of this mass and its slumberous movement, its sluggish prance through dialectical gambles and its timid advance toward any opened frontier (America was fresh when we had a frontier, and we had power then. Now what do we have? Complacency and prurient decay) emerged incarnate when I felt the great weight of uselessness I had against this, against this crushing tide of fearful vomit, against the bulk of a primate species who still hurled their own feces at whatever they felt threatened by."