A Trial Is Two Narratives Competing For

There Are Few Times That I Feel More At Peace, More In Tune, More Zen, If You Will, Than When I Force Myself To Unplug.

I Used To Wonder Why Lucy Liked Those Songs So Much. You Know What I Mean? She Sits In The Dark And Listens And Cries. Music Does That To Her...i Didn't Understand For A Long Time. But I Do Now. The Sad Songs Are A Safe Hurt. It's A Diversion. It's Controlled. And Maybe It Helps You Imagine That Real Pain Will Be Like That. But It's Not. Lucy Knows That, Of Course. You Can't Prepare For Real Pain. You Just Have To Let It Rip You Apart.

In The End, We Know What Makes Us Happy. We Also Know What Makes Us Unhappy. That's The Irony. We Know And Yet We Still Mess It Up. That's Part Of The Human Condition, No, And Why We Need To Work On It.

A Dancer On Break Approached Him. She Smiled. Each Tooth Was Angled In A Different Direction, As If Her Mouth Were The Masterwork Of A Mad Orthodontist. "hi," She Said. "hi." "you're Really Cute." "i Don't Have Any Money." She Spun And Walked Away. Ah, Romance.

Hope Is Cruel. Hope Reminds Me Of What Almost Was. Hope Makes The Physical Ache Return.