What you have discovered here is a private notebook, whose pages are the fragments of my shattered mind.
I, like all writers, am an informant, a reject of society.
I am an exhibitionist, a pervert, a barking dog.
Take care, in the throes of these ribald entertainments, these weird joys of the mind, that you do not become a mere voyeur, peering toward a lighted room at the distant end of some labyrinthine corridor.
Take care that you do not forget yourself…
…for the labyrinth stares back.
…for it is you who performs here.