There is light somewhere.

t was almost disappointing because it seemed when stress and madness were eliminated from my daily life there wasn't much left you could depend on.

I could never accept life as it was, I could never gobble down all its poisons bu there were parts, tenuous magic parts open for the asking.

young or old, good or bad, I don't think anything dies as slow and as hard as a writer.

writing about a writer's block is better than not writing at all

The writer has no responsibility other than to jack off in bed alone and write a good page.

the sea is made of blood