I am fascinated a) by transgressive art and b) what happens beyond the boundaries.

She decides to make a list of the things that make her happy. She writes 'plum-blossom' at the top of a piece of paper. Then she stares at the paper, unable to think of anything else. Eventually it begins to get dark.

A typical National World Weekly would tell the world how Jesus' face was seen on a Big Mac bun bought by someone from Des Moines, with an artist's impression of the bun; how Elvis Presley was recently sighted working in a Burger Lord in Des Moines; how listening to Elvis records cured a Des Moines housewife's cancer; how the spate of werewolves infesting the Midwest are the offspring of noble pioneer women raped by Bigfoot; and that Elvis was taken by Space Aliens in 1976 because he was too good for this world. Remarkably, one of these stories is indeed true.

There's nothing for getting you good fast like having to be good fast, if that makes any sense.

But standing in that hallway, it was all coming back to me. Memories were waiting at the edges of things, beckoning to me.

I think I’ll dismember the world and then I’ll dance in the wreckage.

None of us know where our stories come from. That's why writers make fun of people who ask us where we get our ideas... because we don't know.