When Im writing a novel, which is what I like to write, I get up early, sit zazen, make a pot of green tea. I wear wrist cuffs to keep my wrists warm and minimize irritation from extended contact with the surface of my desk. I sit down and write.

My mind is like a gyre and odd juxtapositions happen.

When Im writing a novel, which is what I like to write, I get up early, sit zazen, make a pot of green tea. I wear wrist cuffs to keep my wrists warm and minimize irritation from extended contact with the surface of my desk. I sit down and write.

The past is weird. I mean, does it really exist ? It feels like it exists, but where is it ? And if it did exists, but doesn’t now, then where did it go ?

Life is fleeting. Don't waste a single moment of your precious life. Wake up now! And now! And now!

But in the time it takes to say now, now is already over. It's already then.

The important thing was that we were being polite and not saying all the things that were making us unhappy, which was the only way we knew how to love each other.