My Older Sister Has Entire

America's Great Talent, I Think, Is To Generate Desires That Would Never Have Occurred, Natively,... And To Make Those Desires So Painfully Real That Money Becomes A Fiction, An Imaginary Means To Some Concrete End.

But If You Kept Thinking About A Fight You’d Lost, Mom Said, You Were Programming Yourself To Lose Again.

Any Place, Then, Can Become A Cemetery. All It Takes Is Your Body. It's Not Fair, I Think, And I Get This Petulant Wish For Ugly Flowers And Mourners, My Mother's Old Familiar Grief. Somebody I Love To Tend My Future Grave. Probably This Is The Wrong Thing To Be Wishing For.

I Moved To New York With The Derangement Of Love. I Was Writing All These Terrible Stories, But I Had Never Been Happier.

Myth Continues To Be A Valuable Way To Understand Parts Of Our Nature That We Can't Quantify.