The Thing Under My Bed Waiting To

It's "merry Christmas" At Our House. Whatever It Is At Yours, Have A Happy One. And Be Good To Somebody.

I Don't Mean That Creative People Are Somehow Finer, Or More Sensitive, And Thus Have Finer, More Sensitive Nervous Breakdowns - You Can Save That Horseshit For The Sylvia Plath Worshipers. It's Just That Creative People Have Creative Breakdowns.

You Could Start At A Path Leading Nowhere More Fantastic Than From Your Own Front Steps To The Sidewalk, And From There You Could Go… Well, Anywhere At All.

Explanations Are Such Cheap Poetry.

On That Gray Street, With The Smell Of Industrial Smokes In The Air And The Afternoon Bleeding Away To Evening, Downtown Derry Looked Only Marginally More Charming Than A Dead Hooker In A Church Pew.