I Find That Writing Is A Constant

I Come In Peace...take Me To Your Lizard.

Shee, You Guys Are So Unhip It's A Wonder Your Bums Don't Fall Off.

I Love Deadlines. I Like The Whooshing Noise They Make As They Go By.

In The End, It Was The Sunday Afternoons He Couldn't Cope With, And That Terrible Listlessness That Starts To Set In About 2:55, When You Know You've Taken All The Baths That You Can Usefully Take That Day, That However Hard You Stare At Any Given Paragraph In The Newspaper You Will Never Actually Read It, Or Use The Revolutionary New Pruning Technique It Describes, And That As You Stare At The Clock The Hands Will Move Relentlessly On To Four O'clock, And You Will Enter The Long Dark Teatime Of The Soul.

I May Not Have Gone Where I Intended To Go, But I Think I Have Ended Up Where I Intended To Be.