Nothing extraordinary can ever be accomplished by being normal.

The pith of intoxication is in its fermentation. For in the belly of distraction is the errantry of conspicuousness. Like a bearded clam that refuses to read “Carapatical Associations,” each endive forseeds the capitalization of its bilingual torpitude—a process that is collectively rummy.

True creative artists nurture a balance between construction and destruction. People who are imbalanced toward construction are materialists or narcissists, and those toward destruction are nihilists or psychopaths.