I wandered over across the hall where they were showing a short movie about vasectomies. Much later I told her that I'd actually gotten a vasectomy a long time ago, and somebody else must have gotten her pregnant. I also told her once that I had inoperable cancer and would soon be passed away and gone, eternally. But nothing I could think up, no matter how dramatic or horrible, ever made her repent or love me the way she had at first, before she really knew me.

Write the unpublishable.. .and then publish it.

After the film it was raining, a light steady rain. Ruthless neon on the wet streets like busted candy.

If you take a lie and allow your desire for the truth, you'll end up with some truth - not fact, but something that gets you closer to the truth. That's what we want. When we go to a play, we need to be assured that the experience we're having.

There was a part of her she hadn’t yet allowed to be born because it was too beautiful for this place

What could be lonelier than trying to communicate?

English words are like prisms. Empty, nothing inside, and still they make rainbows.