People are considered as areas that resist light, mistakes in the air, collision sweet spots. At the time of this writing, the whole world is a crime scene: People eat space with their bodies; they are rain decayers; the wind is slaughtered when they move. A retaliation is probably coming. Should a person cease to move, she would cease to kill the sky, and the world might begin to recover.

I like big doses of grief when I read: Richard Yates, Flannery O'Connor, Kenzabaro Oe, Thomas Bernhard.

Eventually you stop paying attention to your own feelings when there's nothing to be done about them.

My goal, with whatever I'm working on, is to lose track of time.

Suspense left my life a long time ago, now it has returned. I do not care for it.

I love the way dates in a text make us think that truth will follow.

Among other things, autoimmune disorders are an induction into a world of unstable information and no reliable expertise.