Plots Are For Dead People.

Her Life Her Life Had Taken On The Shape Of A Terrible Mistake. She Hadn't Been Given The Proper Tools To Make A Real Life With, She Decided, That Was It. She'd Been Given A Can Of Gravy And A Hair-brush And Told, "there You Go." She'd Stood There For Years, Blinking And Befuddled, Brushing The Can With The Brush.

I Would Never Understand Photography, The Sneaky, Murderous Taxidermy Of It.

You Are Unhappy Because You Believe In Such A Thing As Happy.

I've Accrued A Kind Of Patience, I Believe, Loosely Like Change.

Everything One Reads Is Nourishment Of Some Sort - Good Food Or Junk Food - And One Assumes It All Goes In And Has Its Way With Your Brain Cells.