Character: William James Henry

Maybe men stronger sex, but women are made of much sterner stuff!

The monster is dead; the beast is immortal. Way to catch him; catch him, no one ever. Hunt him at least a thousand years, will it still escape your grasp. it can kill, to shred into pieces and stuffed the banks with formalin, or to scatter to the four corners of the world, but it will still be one ten-thousandth of an inch away from your sight. And it is still the same monster, only with a different face. I could kill him, no matter how. I'll kill him next time, and then and again and every time he will be the new face, though the monster remains the same. The monster always remains the same.

True beauty, Beauty with a capital letter, is terrible - it puts us on the spot, she makes us aware of its ugliness. It is a priceless trophy.

Abnormality is a purely human concept. We are vain and arrogant, we - the highest achievement of evolution and its biggest mistake, we are prisoners of our consciousness and the illusion that we are the center of the universe that the whole world is divided only on we and not we.
But we do not dominate and are not in a centre and not even stand beside anything. Over it, in the center or next to nothing - and do nothing. And we are not greater, no more important and no more beautiful earth worm. More precisely, he's more beautiful than us because he, unlike us, innocent, only dare one of us to assert this? A worm have one goal - to live long enough to manage to leave offspring, little worms. His heart is not capable of betrayal or cruelty, there is no envy and anger, no lust, unlike our hearts. It turns out that we monsters, we are the only truly aberrant life form.

A man must rule over his passions or they will rule over it - unless of course, he's got it. This is the stumbling block, the Central question, the main problem.

The path of the dark, winding road. So easy to get lost if you don't know where to go, easy to start going in circles, it's easy to be right back where left.

We are the children of Adam. In our nature to turn around and face the faceless.

The poet does not cease to be a poet just because it stops to write poetry.

We are all, for lack of a better word, monsterology. Our game differs depending on our age, gender, interests and forces. Someone preys on the most simple and stupid things - the latest electronic device, the promotion, the first handsome or beauty school. Others are greedy for fame, power, wealth. Some, more noble souls are the divine revelations of knowledge or the welfare of all mankind.

Something in us longs for the indescribable, the unattainable... that could be visible.

Who fights with monsters, he should beware to not become a monster.

They say God looks upon us from above, as a scavenger that soars over the damn grey area. In the distance there is a God. The stench of humanity does not rise so high. Our betrayal, our envy, our fears - all of them rise no higher than our top.

In the cities we are disconnected from death, pushed her into the dusty corner but in the desert it is always there. This mistress, who creates life. Sensual embrace of the predator and the victim, orgasmic death cry, the last spasmodic burst of blood, even the silent fertilization of the earth by a falling tree and decaying leaves - all this affection of the beloved, the indispensable condition of life.

There are things too horrible to remember, too beautiful to revive them.