My Favorite Songs Change Every

And Yet ... But What If ... I Want To Do Something Impossible. Something Astounding And Unheard Of. I Want To Scrub The Moss Off The Space Shuttle And Fly Julie To The Moon And Colonise It, Or Float A Capsized Cruise Ship To Some Distant Island Where No One Will Protest Us, Or Just Harness The Magic That Brings Me Into The Brains Of The Living And Use It To Bring Julie Into Mine, Because It's Warm In Here, It's Quiet And Lovely, And In Here We Aren't An Absurd Juxtaposition, We Are Perfect.

Every Experience, Good Or Bad, Is A Priceless Collector's Item.

I Can’t Seem To Make Myself Care About Anything To The Right Or Left Of The Present.

I Hate That She's Hurt. I Hate That She's Been Hurt, By Me And By Others, Throughout The Entire Arc Of Her Life. I Barely Remember Pain, But When I See It In Her I Feel It In Myself, In Disproportionate Measure. It Creeps Into My Eyes, Stinging, Burning.

He Is Spent. His Mind Is Mercury Again, Its Brief Surge Of Humanity Melting Into An Oily Residue On Its Surface, And He No Longer Understands The Feelings He Felt In That Strange Moment On The Overpass. But He Did Feel Them. They Did Happen. They Rest On The Murky Seabed Of His Mind, Buried Under Sand And Silt And Miles Of Grey Waves. Patient Seeds Waiting For Light.