Where I'm from, we believe in all sorts of things that aren't true... we call it history.

I actually prefer female voices to listen to, mostly, but among the male singers whose voices I like are Jeff Buckley, Art Garfunkel, that sort of voice. Contemporary crooners rather than rockers.

And girls need cold anger. They need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the side stepping of compromise. They need to know when they say something that they will never back down, ever, ever.

The momentum of the mind can be vexingly, involuntarily capricious.

I mean, evil and boredom. Evil and ennui. Evil and the lack of stimulation. Evil and sluggish blood.

Perhaps family itself, like beauty, is temporary, and no discredit need attach to impermanence.

The moon rose, an opalescent goddess tipping light from her harsh maternal scimitar.