That's What Tyrants Do, I Guess. They

Summer Is A Latvian Chicken. We Make Foolish Choices. We Think We’re Young Again. We Run With Outstretched Arms Toward An Object Of Love And It Pecks Us And Pecks Us Until We’re Standing There Snot-nosed And Teary In The Middle Of Astor Place And The Sun Sets Fire To Our Penguin Shirts And All That Is Left To Do Is Go To Our Air-conditioned Homes And Ponder The Cruelty Of Our Finest Season.

Do Not Throw Away Your Heart. Keep Your Heart. Your Heart Is All That Matters ... Throw Away Your Ancestors! ... Throw Away Your Shyness And The Anger That Lies Just A Few Inches Beneath ... Accept The Truth! And If There Is More Than One Truth, Then Learn To Do The Difficult Work -- Learn To Choose. You Are Good Enough, You Are Human Enough, To Choose!

My Mother Cranes Her Neck. Her Ability To Be Fascinated By Things Is Her Best Gift To Me.

If I Still Lived In Russia, I'd Be Dead... Or A Really Effective Oligarch.

Also, I've Spent An Entire Week Without Reading Any Books Or Talking About Them Too Loudly. I'm Learning To Work My Apparat's Screen, The Colourful Pulsating Mosaic Of It, The Fact That It Knows Every Last Stinking Detail About The World, Whereas My Books Only Know The Minds Of Their Authors.