I Think Of Novels As Houses. You

He Held My Hand And Told Me A Story About When He Was Six And Threw A Rock At A Kid's Head Who Was Bullying His Brother, And How After That No One Had Bothered Either Of Them Again. 'you Have To Stick Up For Yourself,' He Told Me. 'but It's Bad To Throw Rocks,' I Said. 'i Know. You're Smarter Than Me. You'll Find Something Better Than Rocks.

Once Upon A Time There Was A Boy Who Lived In A House Across The Field From A Girl Who No Longer Exists. They Made Up A Thousand Games. She Was Queen And He Was King. In The Autumn Light, Her Hair Shone Like A Crown. They Collected The World In Small Handfuls. When The Sky Grew Dark They Parted With Leaves In Their Hair.

Sometimes I Thought About Nothing And Sometimes I Thought About My Life. At Least I Made A Living. What Kind Of Living? A Living. It Wasn't Easy. I Found Out How Little Is Unbearable.

At Night The Sky Is Pure Astronomy.

At The Most Simplistic Level Physicists Tell Us That What We See As Reality Is Not Actually Accurate. A Rock Looks Solid To Us But It's Full Of Empty Space And Atoms Moving And We See It As Solid Because We Need To Because It Helps Us Survive, Right? Survival Being Our Goal. You Can Extrapolate That To Many Other Things.