Develop Your Pawns Or Hulk Will Smash.

How Often Had That Hydrant Even Been Opened? Did You Jet Water Through A Car Window, What, Twice At Best? Summer Burned Just A Few Afternoons Long, In The End. As For Flying, Dose Never Even Glanced At The Sky. Flying Was A Summer Within A Summer, A Whim. So Why Think Of It At All?

But The Day I Can't Shrug Off A Twinge Of Self-pity, Is The Day I'm Washed Up For Keeps.

I Tend To Think Of Myself As A Highly Emotional Writer. It's All Coming Out Of The Deepest Feelings, Out Of Dreams, Out Of The Unconscious.

I Try Not To Become Too Regular An Addict Of Any One Subculture.

I Don't Paint Anymore. I Haven't Since I Abandoned It At 19, In Order To Begin Writing Seriously.