I Am A Classic 'star Trek' Fanatic.

We Are The Ones Who Take This Thing Called Music And Line It Up With This Thing Called Time. We Are The Ticking, We Are The Pulsing, We Are Underneath Every Part Of This Moment. And By Making The Moment Our Own, We Are Rendering It Timeless. There Is No Audience. There Are No Instruments. There Are Only Bodies And Thoughts And Murmurs And Looks. It's The Concert Rush To End All Concert Rushes, Because This Is What Matters. When The Heart Races, This Is What It's Racing Towards.

I'm Thinking I Would Like To Dance In The Rain With This Person. I Would Like To Lie Next To Him In The Dark And Watch Him Breathe And Watch Him Sleep And Wonder What He's Dreaming About And Not Get An Inferiority Complex If The Dreams Aren't About Me.

There's The Usual Suspects In There, Green Day And The Clash And The Smiths, Yeah, But There's Also Ella And Frank, Even Dino, Some Curtis Mayfield And Minor Threat And Dusty Springfield And Belle & Sebastian, And As I Flip Through His Musical Life, Getting To Know His Tastes, I Must Acknowledge That Not Only Am I Not Frigid, But I Also May Be Multi-orgasmic.

Usually My Characters, Though Young, Tend To Be Street-wise.

I Walked Inside Macy’s And Faced The Pathetic Spectacle Of A Department Store Full Of Shoppers, None Of Whom Were Shopping For Themselves. Without The Instant Gratification Of A Self-aimed Purchase, Everyone Walked Around In The Tactical Stupor Of The Financially Obligated.