"Coming home throw my leather jacket on the floor, drink a cup of coffee through a book...
Ooh there is no one to spit on, except the little dirty picture on the wall.
On the screen it's very hard for me to see through the haze of dying children, dying children, dying children.
Grab a pen, try to draw a silly picture of a brain, hoping that my own look better, but it's all just bits of paper and I am getting nowhere...."
"I had loved a friend without knowing the backpains of his mind, of his mind.
Sure we stared and we stared as the bullets came hard on the target.
I think I lost control.
I was seeing a friend translating love into violence...."
"I'd like to tell the secret story of my vicious passion.
You might turn your back on me, and find it out of the fashion.
I've tried to hide it all my life so that no one would find me here, while I was hiding in my hut biting Maggie's blackie doggie ears.
It turns me on, it hards it on...."