The only thing I've consistently been interested in in the last twenty-five years is writing very short texts. That continues to interest me as a project, to contain some part of reality, which is chaotic by definition, in a contained space. I like small apartments. I like getting rid of stuff. I went through my files yesterday and spent hours shredding things. It was great.

I see no reason not to write whatever comes to me.

The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know.

If you think something's happened quickly, you're looking at only a part of it.

I don't write toward a genre, and I try not to make claim to a genre after a book is published. That said, The Guardians isn't poetry. It's prose.

Chair or no chair: a binary relation. But the vicissitudes of moving the body around are infinite. You never know what a person in a chair can do.

If I'm not writing a thing, depression might be looming.