When I see people talking on the internet about me or my work it's almost always more a description of themselves and so I never really think of myself as anything more than just who I always was.

Everyone smiles with that invisible gun to their head.

You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake... This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.

The liberator who destroys my property is fighting to save my spirit. The teacher who clears all possessions from my path will set me free.

I want to have your abortion.

It's obsequious little nicety-nice girls like me who allow assholes to run the world: Miss Harlot O'Harlots, billionaire phony tree huggers, hypocrite drug-snorting, weed-puffing peace activists who fund the mass-murdering drug cartels and perpetuate crushing poverty in dirt-poor banana republics. It's my petty fear of personal rejection that allows so many true evils to exist. My cowardice enables atrocities.

We all want to explain ourselves. Nobody wants to be forgotten.