It's not like I'm such a shiny happy person either, you know? I'm a wreck too, I'm just... still alive.

What happened to the world was gradual. I've forgotten what it actually was, but I have faint, fetal memories of what it was like. A smoldering dread that never really caught fire till there wasn't much left to burn. Each sequential step surprised us. Then one day we woke up, and everything was gone.

Is this muteness a real physical handicap? One of the many symptoms of being Dead?Or do we just have nothing left to say?

I've always been interested in writing from the perspective of an outsider.

Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.

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

I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present.