To understand Woman, a good place to start is women, who embody Her best since they all strive for the ultimate goal of expressing Woman in their every action.

Let’s face it: embryonic consciousness is idiotic.

She fucks using language that fucks the mind, with its total lack of any coherent meaning.

For example, as a mature adult, you cannot even try (with any emotional involvement in the act of trying) to jump over a house.

The memory of his afternoon – the incident in the library – makes him feel as if his skin is coated with a thin film of sticky lotion.

“How is your work going?” asks Dave Sterret, the nicest guy in the room, battered daily into mellowness by his sadistic boyfriend, Deconstructionist Jamie.

Swenson treks off to the bathroom where he lingers, as planned, though it’s hardly the leisurely piss of his dreams but rather a long, nervous prelude during which he stands there, embarrassed to be holding his dick, paralyzed by Marge’s pristine, accusatory collection of fluffed-up dainty terrycloth towels and edible-looking soaps.

To the sane mind, even aggression against people is infinitely better than aggression against infinity.

The Tritonic Composition explores the boundaries of mental effort, unhindered by the ponderous moral posturing of your leaden machine-minds!

His career depended not so much on his demonic traits as on his typical, “normal” characteristics.