O Death Where Is Thy Sting? The

As An Old Junk Pusher Told Me, 'watch Whose Money You Pick Up.'

Last Night I Woke Up With Someone Squeezing My Hand. It Was My Other Hand.

Junk Is Not, Like Alcohol Or Weed, A Means To Increased Enjoyment Of Life. Junk Is Not A Kick. It Is A Way Of Life.

I Escaped The [southern-writer] Label Because I Didn't And Don't Write About The South.

Consider The Impasse Of A One-god Universe. He Is All-knowing And All-powerful. He Can't Go Anywhere, Since He Is Already Everywhere. He Can't Do Anything, Since The Act Of Doing Presupposes Opposition. His Universe Is Irrevocably Thermodynamic, Having No Friction By Definition. So, He Has To Create Friction: War, Fear, Sickness, Death, To Keep His Dying Show On The Road.