Don't write about your most emotionally charged moment as a learning thing.

To some of us, the nights are too long. To some, the days.

Dude, the place is filling up," I say. "It feels like we're living in the bottom half of an hourglass." Like somehow we're running out of time.

Most people would never admit it, but they'd been bitching since they were born. As soon as their head popped out into that bright delivery-room light, nothing had been right. Nothing had been as comfortable or felt so good. Just the effort it took to keep your stupid physical body alive, just finding food and cooking it and dishwashing, the keeping warm and bathing and sleeping, the walking and bowel movements and ingrown hairs, it was all getting to be too much work.

It's only in drugs or death we'll see anything new, and death is just too controlling.

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.

We come from a generation of people who need their TV or stereo playing all the time. These people so scared of silence. These soundaholics, these quietophobics.