Like a cat I have nine times to die.

The thing about writing is not to talk, but to do it; no matter how bad or even mediocre it is, the process and production is the thing, not the sitting and theorizing about how one should write ideally, or how well one could write if one really wanted to or had the time.

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy & peaceful.

I must be lean & write & make worlds beside this to live in.

See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.

Why the hell are we conditioned into the smooth strawberry-and-cream Mother-Goose-world, Alice-in-Wonderland fable, only to be broken on the wheel as we grow older and become aware of ourselves as individuals with a dull responsibility in life?

Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?