If Marilyn Monroe was alive right now, what would she be doing?' Clawing at the roof of her coffin.

Your past is just a story. And once you realize this it has no power over you.

No mat­ter how much I try and hide this, bit by bit, I start to fall apart.

You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else.

I wanted to write about the moment when your addictions no longer hide the truth from you. When your whole life breaks down. That's the moment when you have to somehow choose what your life is going to be about.

It's creepy, but here we are, the Pilgrims, the crackpots of our time, trying to establish our own alternate reality. To build a world out of rocks and chaos. What it's going to be, I don't know. Even after all that rushing around, where we've ended up is the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. And maybe knowing isn't the point. Where we're standing right now, in the ruins in the dark, what we build could be anything.

Some mythological fat asswipe drives our national economy.