“I don’t know how [books] accumulate like that. They’re part rabbit, I think.”

“All I can think is: His head is gone and I don’t know how to merge with the Book.”

“Yet, in the middle of all this grief, I realize there’s a part of me clinical enough to want to document it. People talk about artists like they’re these sensitive, delicate beings who don’t use the toilet, but I think the real ones are something else. They’re users. They’re mercenaries. They’re hunters. And they don’t let anything – other people, or themselves – get in the way of it.”

“I like to think of people as roses, as they grow older, they slowly and unwillingly start giving up on life, even though they want it. I like to think of people as roses, because I think that they don’t know how lovely they could be sometimes. And that they’re meant to die, but they do their best to give pleasure to others’ eyes and hearts.”

“I never liked the term “experimental writing,” but what else is a prose poem? Having written a number of them, I still don’t know how they’re written.”

“Alan:I used rabbit-skin glue to size the panels. I got it from the artshop. I don’t know if they use real rabbits in it. It seems kind of ashame if they do, but then it’s not like there’s a rabbit shortage, isit? And maybe they only used rabbits that would’ve died anyhow.”