Let's Say Donald Trump Loses But It's

Sometimes I Think That The Amount Of Time You Live On Earth Is Just An Inverse Reflection Of How Good You Were In A Previous Existence. For Example, Infants Who Die From Sids Were Actually Great People When They Were Alive For Real, So They Get To Go To Heaven After A Mere Five Weeks In Purgatory. Meanwhile Anyone Willard Scott Ever Congratulated For Turning One Hundred Two Was Obviously A Terrible Individual Who Had Many Many Previous Sins To Pay For And Had To Spend A Century In His Or Her Own Unknown Purgatory Even Though The Person Seemed Perfectly Wholesome In This Particular World.

What My Mom Failed To Understand Was That I Didn't Even Want Long Hair -- I Needed Long Hair. And My Desire For Protracted, Flowing Locks Had Virtually Nothing To Do With Fashion, Nor Was It A Form Of Protest Against The Constructions Of Mainstream Society. My Motivation Was Far More Philosophical. I Wanted To Rock.

Different Critics Go To Different Lengths To Disagree With That Sentiment, But Ultimately, They're The Person Experiencing This Art, And Whatever Judgment Or Taste They Use Is Internal, And Says More About Them Than About The Record They're Writing About.

The Strength Of Your Memory Dictates The Size Of Your Reality

The Essays Are Very Solipsistic And Self-absorbed, I'm Totally Conscious Of That. To Me, Book Writing Is Fun, And I Basically Just Write About Things That Are Entertaining To Myself.