We All Flee In Hope Of Finding

Of Course, I Had My Heart Broken As A Teen. I Was Desperately In Love With Myself. Then I Found Out That I Was Completely Shallow. I Haven't Spoken To Myself Since.

Older Teens Tend To Write To Me And Say, 'thank You For Not Writing Down To Teenagers.'

We Americans Are Interested Only In The Consumption Of Our Products. We Have No Interest In How They Are Produced, Or What Happens To Them Once We Discard Them, Once We Throw Them Away.

I Eat Broccoli. I Think About The Plot. I Pace In Circles For Hours, Counter-clockwise, Listening To Music. I Try To Think Of One Detail In The Scene I'm About To Write That I'm Really Excited About Writing. Until I Can Come Up With That One Detail, I Pace.

...they Told Me Of Color, That It Was An Illusion Of The Eye, An Event In The Perceiver's Mind, Not In The Object; They Told Me That Color Had No Reality; Indeed, They Told Me That Color Did Not Inhere In A Physical Body Any More Than Pain Was In A Needle. And Then They Imprisoned Me In Darkness; And Though There Was No Color There, I Still Was Black, And They Still Were White; And For That, They Bound And Gagged Me.