I never wanted anything to happen to my parents, but a hero needs an origin story.

I want to make something, and I want people to know I made it.

Dear Nintendo, We need a new Mario game, where you rescue the princess in the first ten minutes, and for the rest of the game you try and push down that sick feeling in your stomach that she’s ‘damaged goods’, a concept detailed again and again in the profoundly sex negative instruction booklet, and when Luigi makes a crack about her and Bowser, you break his nose and immediately regret it. When Peach asks you, in the quiet of her mushroom castle bedroom ‘do you still love me?’ you pretend to be asleep. You press the A button rhythmically, to control your breath, keep it even.

Home is where the heart is, until we get a chance to bury it. Home is where the heart pulled the nails out of its feet, and fled.

Satellite images, maps and blueprints of the whole world, of every city. We could look it up and know what's there in someone else's words. Or we could get wicked drunk and just go.

You are never so low that you deserve to be lower.

Death is not the end. Death is an ocean on all sides of our lives. Deep and dark and cold, and anything but empty.