Maybe It's Our Sins That

When We Die, These Are The Stories Still On Our Lips. The Stories We’ll Only Tell Strangers, Someplace Private In The Padded Cell Of Midnight. These Important Stories, We Rehearse Them For Years In Our Head But Never Tell. These Stories Are Ghosts, Bringing People Back From The Dead. Just For A Moment. For A Visit. Every Story Is A Ghost.

Reject The Basic Assumptions Of Civilization, Especially The Importance Of Material Possessions.

We're All Going Overnight Express Delivery Straight To Hell.

I Remember Selling My First Short Story And Thinking, Oh My God, I Sold Something For Fifty Dollars! That Gives Me The Authority To Say I'm A Writer And To Actually Write More Things! It Legitimized The Activity.

Demons Are Former Celebrities Who Prey On Their Own Insecurities.