In The End, It Is

Probably Not Needing To Be Published Would Give Me More Time To Think About A Book.

Men Had No Purpose On Earth Whereas Women Were Gods Walking Unrecognized Among Them.

(although Anyone With Half A Brain Must Surely Be Mired In Existential Gloom All The Time)

I Was On The Verge Of Something Numinous And Profound And In One More Second The Universe Was Going To Crack Open And Arcana Would Rain Down On My Head Like Grace And All The Cosmic Mysteries Were Going To Be Revealed.

When You Chopped Logs With The Ax And They Split Open They Smelled Beautiful, Like Christmas. But When You Split Someone's Head Open It Smelled Like Abattoir And Quite Overpowered The Scent Of The Wild Lilacs You'd Cut And Brought Into The House Only This Morning, Which Was Already Another Life.