Stories end in reverie, tragedy, or forgiveness.

Many people feel their outer self isn't the whole self.

When people looked at him they had the feeling of being shut out. He did not shut them out. He shut himself in.

I dream of flight, not to be as the angels are, but to rise above the smallness of it all. The smallnesss that I am. Against the daily death the iconography of wings.

Their throats were bare for God.

What I wanted to do was to fasten my index finger and thumb at the bolts of your collar bone, push out, spread the web of my hand until it caught against your throat. You asked me if I wanted to strangle you. No, I wanted to fit you, not just in the obvious ways but in so many indentations.

I never cared about money.