Not telling is just as interesting as telling I have found. Why speech, that short verbal journey from inside to outside can be excrutiating under certain circumstances is fascinating.

There is this assumption that much of what I write is about my life, and that simply is not true.

Libraries are sexual dream factories. The langour brings it on.

I've often thought that one of us is what we imagine, that each of us normalizes the terrible strangeness of inner life with a variety of convenient fictions.

Demonstration of mastery gives a feeling of power and that feeling of power is a good feeling.

That night as I lay in bed, I thought of several things I could have said and mourned the fact that my wit usually bloomed late, peaking when it no longer mattered, during the solitary hours close to midnight.

We chart delusions through collective agreement.