What the hell, it always rains in sad love stories. And in happy ones too. Must be a reason, though perhaps not necessarily metaphysical.

Incredible the mass labor of the fat ugly masturbators of the 82nd AIRBORNE DIVISION! Wow have I seen gallons and gallons of sperm spilled, wasted, in the nights of North Carolina, and tons and tons of sheets stained, yellowed by the juice of these guys of the 82nd! Kilos and kilos! Piles and piles! Truckloads and truckloads of sheets full of vicious and doubtful traces and circles.

And so, for me, the only fiction that still means something today is the kind of fiction that tries to explore the possibilities of fiction beyond its own limitations; the kind of fiction that challenges the tradition that governs it; the kind of fiction that constantly renews our faith in man’s intelligence and imagination rather than man’s distorted view of reality; the kind of fiction that reveals man’s playful irrationality rather than his righteous rationality.

You’re smiling. But you must know yourself, since you are a literary person, that the work of fiction is always a form of recovery of the past, even if that past has to be falsified to seem real. The act of recalling the past in what we write doesn’t mean knowing the way it really was, but rather becoming the master of memories as they burn in the perilous instant of creation.

Most love stories are nocturnal. That’s what makes them so fascinating.

Because you see darling, darling, there are no false questions. All questions in life are true questions. Answers may be false, but questions cannot be false. Sure,they can be dumb, they can be stupid, but never false.

Frog backward is GO RF.

And so we must dig in to see where raw words and fundamental sounds are buried so that the great silence within can finally be decoded.

Most love stories are nocturnal. That's what makes them so fascinating.

To commit the act of felo-de-se is a form of delusion. You see, my love, to leave one's life unfinished implies the possibility of success. What is left unlived may contain the potential truth one always seeks. Those who kill themselves do so with the conviction that they would have reached that truth eventually had they lived to the proper end. They die in the illusion of hope which in a way keeps the rest of us alive. Reason, therefore, for not committing suicide.