Tea Cake, The Son Of The Evening

Gods Always Behave Like The People Who Make Them.

If It Was So Honorable And Glorious To Be Black, Why Was It The Yellow-skinned People Among Us Had So Much Prestige?

All Gods Who Receive Homage Are Cruel. All Gods Dispense Suffering Without Reason. Otherwise They Would Not Be Worshipped. Through Indiscriminate Suffering Men Know Fear And Fear Is The Most Divine Emotion. It Is The Stones For Altars And The Beginning Of Wisdom. Half Gods Are Worshipped In Wine And Flowers. Real Gods Require Blood.

Trees And Plants Always Look Like The People They Live With, Somehow.

Perhaps, It Is Just As Well To Be Rash And Foolish For A While. If Writers Were Too Wise, Perhaps No Books Would Be Written At All. It Might Be Better To Ask Yourself "why?" Afterwards Than Before. Anyway, The Force From Somewhere In Space Which Commands You To Write In The First Place, Gives You No Choice. You Take Up The Pen When You Are Told, And Write What Is Commanded. There Is No Agony Like Bearing An Untold Story Inside You.