Perhaps because I'll never be one, humans are interesting to me.

It's always me, isn't it? I'm not really a very nice person, but for some reason it's always me that they come to with their problems.

But what could I do? Be stupid for a while? I wasn't sure I knew how, even after so many years of careful observation.

It’s like, everything really is two ways, the way we all pretend it is and the way it really is

It's that moon again, slung so fat and low in the tropical night, calling out across a curdled sky and into the quivering ears of that dear old voice in the shadows, the Dark Passenger, nestled snug in the backseat of the Dodge K-car of Dexter's hypothetical soul. That rascal moon, that loudmouthed leering Lucifer, calling down across the empty sky to the dark hearts of the night monsters below, calling them away to their joyful playgrounds.

Another dream. Another long-distance call on my phantom party line. No wonder i had steadfastly refused to have dreams for most of my life. So stupid; such pointless, obvious symbols. Totally uncontrollable anxiety soup, hateful, blatant nonsense.

I was filled with dread at the thought my mind had skipped town and left me behind to pay the rent." --Dexter