A Novelist Is A Person Who Lives

It Proposed That Human Beings, By The Act Of Making Witness, Warranted Times And Places For Their Existence Other Than The Time And Place They Were Living Through.

There Is No Longer Any Such Thing As Fiction Or Nonfiction; There's Only Narrative.

You Can't Remember Sex. You Can Remember The Fact Of It, And Recall The Setting, And Even The Details, But The Sex Of The Sex Cannot Be Remembered, The Substantive Truth Of It, It Is By Nature Self-erasing, You Can Remember Its Anatomy And Be Left With A Judgment As To The Degree Of Your Liking Of It, But Whatever It Is As A Splurge Of Being, As A Loss, As A Charge Of The Conviction Of Love Stopping Your Heart Like Your Execution, There Is No Memory Of It In The Brain, Only The Deduction That It Happened And That Time Passed, Leaving You With A Silhouette That You Want To Fill In Again.

I Am Led To The Proposition That There Is No Fiction Or Nonfiction As We Commonly Understand The Distinction: There Is Only Narrative.

Images Break With A Small Ping, Their Destruction Is As Wonderful As Their Being, They Are Essentially Instruments Of Torture Exploding Through The Individual's Calloused Capacity To Feel Undifferentiated Emotions Full Of Longing And Dissatisfaction And Monumentality.