We're well past the end of the century when time, for the first time, curved, bent, slipped, flash forwarded, and flashed back yet still kept rolling along. We know it all now, with our thoughts traveling at the speed of a tweet, our 140 characters in search of a paragraph. We're post-history. We're post-mystery.

Nothing is harmful to literature except censorship, and that almost never stops literature going where it wants to go either, because literature has a way of surpassing everything that blocks it and growing stronger for the exercise.

We'd never expect to understand a piece of music on one listen, but we tend to believe we've read a book after reading it just once.

It's about the connecting force from form to form. It's the toe bone connecting to the shoulder bone. It's the bacterial kick of life force, something growing out of nothing, forming itself out of something else. Form never stops. And form is always environmental.

Every great narrative is at least two narratives, if not more - the thing that is on the surface and then the things underneath which are invisible.

remember you must live. remember you most love. remainder you mist leaf.

Fashion is fickle, and I was published because I was fashionable. Because I was gay.