Writing Is Like Sex, If It's Difficult

To Merely Observe Your Culture Without Contributing To It Seems Very Close To Existing As A Ghost.

Emotionally, In Our Minds, We Get So Filled With Resentments Where We've Got A Story About Absolutely Everything.

Crying Is Right At Hand In The Smothering Dark, Closed Inside Someone Else, When You See How Everything You Can Ever Accomplish Will End Up As Trash.

Maybe It's Our Sins That Give God Consolation When He Finally Has To Give Us Cancer.

You Ever Wonder When God's Coming Back With A Lot Of Barbecue Sauce?