To Be Next To Her Was To

Because Every One Of Us Has Our Box, A Dark Chamber Stowing The Thing That Lanced Our Heart. It Contains What You Do Everything For, Strive For, Wound Everything Around You.

Dad Always Warned That It Was Misleading When One Imagined People, When One Sas Them In The Mind's Eye, Because One Never Remembered Them As They Really Were, With As Many Inconsistencies As There Were Hairs On A Human Head (100,000 To 200,000). Instead, The Mind Used A Lazy Shorthand, Smoothed The Person Over Into Their Most Dominating Characteristic--their Pessimism Or Insecurity (something Really Being Lazy, Turning Them Into Either Nice Or Mean)--and One Made The Mistake Of Judging Them From This Basis Alone And Risked, On A Subsequent Encounter, Being Dangerously Surprised.

Freak The Ferocious Out.

I Hate To Think Of A Day Where A Compelling Book Or A Compelling Authorial Voice Would Be Lost Simply Because That Person Doesn't Have A Web Site. But I Think That, To Use The Internet In A Positive Way, To Turn People On To Reading, Is Something That Authors Shouldn't Really Shy Away From Necessarily.

Justice Wields An Erratic Sword, Grants Mercy To Fortunate Few. Yet If Man Doesn't Fight For Her, 'tis Chaos He's Left To.