All my life I have battled the alarm clock, pummeling the snooze button over and over with mounting self-loathing until the shame is finally strong enough to lever me upright.

...and we'll see what happens when we say Yes while this rigor mortis world screams No.

I'm not a general or a colonel or a builder of cities. I'm just a corpse who wants not to be.

Here we are on the road. We must be going somewhere.

But we don’t remember those lives. We can’t read our diaries.’ ‘It doesn’t matter. We are where we are, however we got here. What matters is where we go next.’ ‘But can we choose that?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘We’re Dead. Can we really choose anything?’ ‘Maybe. If we want to bad enough.

I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.

I can no longer believe in any voodoo spell or laboratory virus. This is something deeper, darker. This comes from the cosmos, from the stars, or the unknown blackness behind them. The shadows in God's boarded-up basement.