There's a phenomenology of being sick, one that depends on temperament, personal history, and the culture which we live in.

Crippled and crazy, we hobble toward the finish line, pen in hand.

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

We chart delusions through collective agreement.

Writing fiction is like remembering what never happened.

Pain is always emotional. Fear and depression keep constant company with chronic hurting.

Reading is perception as translation. The inert signs of an alphabet become living meanings in the mind.