Anything You Dream Is Fiction, And Anything

He Had Never Liked October. Ever Since He Had First Lay In The Autumn Leaves Before His Grandmother's House Many Years Ago And Heard The Wind And Saw The Empty Trees. It Had Made Him Cry, Without A Reason. And A Little Of That Sadness Returned Each Year To Him. It Always Went Away With Spring. But, It Was A Little Different Tonight. There Was A Feeling Of Autumn Coming To Last A Million Years. There Would Be No Spring. ("the October Game")

I Don't Have A Computer. A Computer's A Typewriter. I Already Have A Typewriter.

You Can Write A Short Story In Two Hours. Two Hours A Day, You Have A Novel In A Year

Time Was A Film Run Backward. Suns Fled And Ten Million Moons Fled After Them.

Everything That Happens Before Death Is What Counts.