Birdsong foamed in the hour-before-dawn garden.

I pass through many Me's in the course of my day, each one selfish with his time. The Lying-in-Bed me and the Enjoying-the-Hot-Shower Me are particularly selfish. The Late Me loathes the pair of them.

I understand now that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions. All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention if only one can first conceive of doing so.

I rarely ever put my head above the rampart and see where this big lumbering behemoth called 'global literature' is going.

A life spent shaping a world I want Jackson to inherit, not one I fear Jackson shall inherit, this strikes me as a life worth the living.

Good moods’re as fragile as eggs...Bad moods’re as fragile as bricks.

One fine day a predatory world shall consume itself.