All We Can Ever Do Is Lay

Only White Men Have The Luxury Of Ignoring Race.

Maybe Happiness Is Like A Virus. Maybe It's One Of Those Bugs That Sits For A Long Time, So We Don't Even Know That We Are Infected.

I Write The Way You Might Arrange Flowers. Not Every Try Works, But Each One Launches Another. Every Constraint, Even Dullness, Frees Up A New Design.

I Don't Mind Arguing With Myself. It's When I Lose That It Bothers Me.

My Dream Has Always Been To Suspend Myself In Space When I Write, And Lying Horizontal In Bed Is The Closest To Doing That.