Maybe Love, Like Suffering, Is

Plot Was Always Secondary In My Mind.

There Are All Kinds Of Strange Threads In American Culture, And Places Where Sympathy Is Extended And Places Where It Isn't, And Places Where Outrage Is Extended And Places Where It's Not. It's This Constantly Shifting Barrel Of Eels.

I Tend To Like Order In Almost Every Other Aspect Of My Life, But For Me, The Process Of Writing Is Really Chaotic And Decadent And Indulgent.

I Read A Lot, But At The Same Time I'm Not A Particularly Good Or Diligent Or Discriminating Reader. I Go Through Maybe Close To A Thousand Or More Books A Year, But A Lot Of Times I'll Only Read Bits And Pieces Of Any One Individual Text.

So This Was What It Felt Like To Lose Yourself. Again. To Let Go Of Your Future And Let It Rise Up And Up Until Finally You Couldn't See It Anymore, And You Knew That You Had To Start Over.