tedbedlam

Things thought late at night:

There is a rage in me. Like a burning saint, neither benign nor a cancer, it teaches me from the echoes of the screams inside my soul. The wills that have seen fit to restrict me have never known an enemy such as I. How terrible I may become before my body is burned as a corpse. How wonderful will be the gifts that I bring. For what is insanity but a cure for the common culture? The sickness is in the poison land and the rotted hands which own and tend the fields.