Small, red, and upright he waited, gripping his new bookbag tight in one hand and touching a lucky penny inside his coat pocket with the other, while the first snows of winter floated down on his eyelashes and covered the branches around him and silenced all trace of the world.

Aristotle says that metaphor causes the mind to experience itself in the act of making a mistake.

The words we read and words we write never say exactly what we mean. The people we love are never just as we desire them. The two symbola never perfectly match. Eros is in between.

What would it be like to live in a library of melted books. With sentences streaming over the floor and all the punctuation settled to the bottom as a residue. It would be confusing. Unforgivable. A great adventure.

When I began to be published, people got the idea that I should 'teach writing,' which I have no idea how to do and don't really believe in.

I never really got over the fun of making letters.

Here we go mother on the shipless ocean. Pity us, pity the ocean, here we go.