Think of spoiled cat food and ulcerated cankers and expired donor organs. That's how beautiful she looks.

Love is bullshit. Emotion is bullshit. I am a rock. A jerk. I'm an uncaring asshole and proud of it.

Part of her doing suicide intervention is my caseworker has to mix me another gin and tonic.

No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.

Intellectual culture seems to separate high art from low art. Low art is horror or pornography or anything that has a physical component to it and engages the reader on a visceral level and evokes a strong sympathetic reaction. High art is people driving in Volvos and talking a lot. I just don't want to keep those things separate. I think you can use visceral physical experiences to illustrate larger ideas, whether they're emotional or spiritual. I'm trying to not exclude high and low art or separate them.

Find out what you're afraid of and go live there.

For this moment, nothing matters. Look up into the stars and you're gone.