The World Is Quiet Here.

Desperation Is Like A Spilled Drink; Even If It's Delicious, No One Will Get Near It. Cultivate An Aura Of Glamorous Unapproachability.

A Man Of My Acquaintance Once Wrote A Poem Called "the Road Less Traveled", Describing A Journey He Took Through The Woods Along A Path Most Travelers Never Used. The Poet Found That The Road Less Traveled Was Peaceful But Quite Lonely, And He Was Probably A Bit Nervous As He Went Along, Because If Anything Happened On The Road Less Traveled, The Other Travelers Would Be On The Road More Frequently Traveled And So Couldn't Hear Him As He Cried For Help. Sure Enough, That Poet Is Dead.

Maybe, Generations Ago, Young People Rebelled Out Of Some Clear Motive, But Now, We Know We're Rebelling. Between Teen Movies And Sex-ed Textbooks We're So Ready For Our Rebellious Phase We Can't Help But Feel It's Safe, Contained. It Will Turn Out All Right, Despite The Risk, Snug In The Shell Of Rebellion Narrative. Rebellion Narrative, Does That Make Sense? It Was Appropriate To Do, So We Did It.

Get Out Of My Way, You Cakesniffers!” Said A Rude, Violent, And Filthy Little Girl, Shoving The Baudelaire Orphans Aside As She Dashed By.

I’m Reminded Of A Book My Father Used To Read Me,” She Said. “a Bunch Of Elves And Things Get Into A Huge War Over A Piece Of Jewelry That Everybody Wants But Nobody Can Wear.