The internet is necessarily public. It can be filtered-public or censored-public, but it necessarily has to be open and available.

And yes, again, that was it exactly. A retyper and not a writer. A prodigy and not a genius.

JP shouted, "TELL THEM WHAT YOU JUST DID TO EACH OTHER!" "Um," I said. "We kissed," the Duke said. "That's kinda gay," Keun said. "I AM A GIRL." "Yeah, I know, but so is Tobin," Keun said.

I can't imagine us saying these things to each other out loud. But even if I can't imagine hearing these words, I can imagine living them. I don't even picture it. Instead I'm in it. How I would feel with him here. That peace. It would be so happy, and it makes me sad because it only exists in words.

According to Maslow, I was stuck on the second level of the pyramid, unable to feel secure in my health and therefore unable to reach for love and respect and art and whatever else, which is, utter horseshit: The urge to make art or contemplate philosophy does not go away when you are sick. Those urges just become transfigured by illness. Maslow's pyramid seemed to imply I was less human than other people, and most people seemed to agree with him.

Don't make fun of her," the Duke said. "She needs gentle encouragement. Carla, baby, we love you. You are such a good car. And we believe in you one hundred percent." ... "Don't listen to him, Carla. You're gonna do this." ... "I love you, Carla. You know that, don't you? I wake up every morning and the first thing I think is that I love Tobin's mom's car. I know that's weird, baby, but I do. I love you. And I know you can do this." ... "Carla," the Duke said, "it's time to tell you the truth. I'm in love with you. I want to be with you, Carla. I've never felt this way about a c-

We're going to get gored to death by a feral fugging hog and your best strategy is to pretend it's a grizzly bear?