I had killed people before, in war and as a member of the New Orleans police department, and I know what it does to you. Like the hunter, you feel an adrenaline surge of pleasure at having usurped the...
God bless the world
Gandy dancers
Crowd again. I think we blew an opportunity. But maybe
Wicked men do not go away of their own accord.
We’re wayfaring strangers. We’re born alone, we die alone.
I was not simply tired of the world’s iniquity. I was tired of greed in particular and the ostentatious display of wealth that characterizes our times, and the justifications for despoiling the earth...
I also smell it on you.
And every good artist knows that the gift comes from somewhere else, and it's there for a reason, and that's to make the world a better place.
Solipsistic
Perdition,
When I closed my eyes, a lantern lit up the inside of my head, as if I had punched a hypodermic loaded with morphine into my arm.
There are those who are made different in the womb.
Straight shooters always win
Sometimes he comes to me in my dreams, and I wonder if ironically all our stories were written on his skin back there in Texas City in 1947. Or maybe that's just poetic illusion purchased by time. But...
Pretty damn boring to be a spectator in your own life.
Maggie’s face darkened, as
I’ve killed men against whom I had no grievance.
I had learned long ago that resolution by itself is not enough; we are what we do, not what we think and feel.
How do you handle it when your anger brims over the edge of the pot? You use the shortened version of the Serenity Prayer, which is Fuck it. Like Voltaire’s Candide tending his own garden or the Briti...