Cannibals Prefer Those Who Have No Spines.

The Demand For Absolute Purity Of Genres Is Becoming Nowadays An Anachronism In Literature.

Even A Fool Could See That One Didn't Need A War, Nuclear Or Otherwise, To Destroy Oneself; The Rising Cost Of Weaponry Could Do That Quite Nicely.

He Who Has Had, Has Been, But He Who Hasn't Been, Has Been Had.

I See A Poem As A Multi-coloured Strip Behind Peeling Plaster, In Separate, Shining Fragments.

I Felt Myself Being Invaded Through And Through, I Crumbled, Disintegrated, And Only Emptiness Remained.