Sarte Was Right, Hell Is Other People

Now That's A Concept That's Always Fascinated Me: The Real World. Only A Very Specific Subset Of People Use The Term, Have You Noticed? To Me, It Seems Self-evident That Everyone Lives In The Real World - We All Breathe Real Oxygen, Eat Real Food, The Earth Under Our Feet Feels Equally Solid To All Of Us. But Clearly These People Have A Far More Tightly Circumscribed Definition Of Reality, One That I Find Deeply Mysterious, And An Almost Pathologically Intense Need To Bring Others Into Line With That Definition.

I've Always Loved Strong Women, Which Is Lucky For Me Because Once You're Over About Twenty-five There Is No Other Kind. Women Blow My Mind. The Stuff That Routinely Gets Done To Them Would Make Most Men Curl Up And Die, But Women Turn To Steel And Keep On Coming. Any Man Who Claims He's Not Into Strong Women Is Fooling Himself Mindless; He's Into Strong Women Who Know How To Pout Prettily And Put On Baby Voices, And Who Will End Up Keeping His Balls In Her Makeup Bags.

If You Rewrite A Paragraph Fifty Times And Forty-nine Of Them Are Terrible, That's Fine; You Only Need To Get It Right Once.

Now Death Is Uncool, Old-fashioned. To My Mind The Defining Characteristic Of Our Era Is Spin, Everything Tailored To Vanishing Point By Market Research, Brands And Bands Manufactured To Precise Specifications; We Are So Used To Things Transmuting Into Whatever We Would Like Them To Be That It Comes As A Profound Outrage To Encounter Death, Stubbornly Unspinnable, Only And Immutably Itself.

What I Am Telling You, Before You Begin My Story, Is This -- Two Things: I Crave Truth. And I Lie.