The thought of you being removed from the rotation is not funny to me.

And then something invisible snapped insider her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart.

The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you'll think "they'll remember me now," but (a) they don't remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.

Ya gotta live somewhere, but also you GET to live somewhere.

Just move to the Internet, its great here. We get to live inside where the weather is always awesome.

The Z’s will kill us all, and then the Z’s will die out and in sixty years there will be no one to remember our silly war, Caroline’s wasted ammunition, my year of zombic survivalism, Rene DesCartes’s musings, or Michelangelo’s sculptures. And that is really only the sadness here as I drink a thousand-dollar bottle of wine down here in the cellar: We did a few things worth remembering, and I wish for someone to remember them.

There are times when you just have to let it all out. All the anger, all the pain.