Are there are fireflies on the West Coast? I never saw any when I lived in California.

I’ll work my way from irony to sincerity in the sinking city, a would-be Whitman of the vulnerable grid.

I think the anti-intellectualism of a lot of contemporary fiction is a kind of despairing of literature's ability to be anything more than perfectly bound blog posts or transcribed sitcoms.

When the narrator feels like an octopus, when he says his limbs are starting to multiply, he means he has inklings of orders of perception beyond his individual body.

Shaving is a way to start the workday by ritually not cutting your throat when you've the chance.

I was a violent, bipolar, compulsive liar. I was a real American.

The scare quotes burn off like fog.