As A Rule, I Don't Worry About

Pride, That Invisible Bone That Keeps The Neck Stiff.

And Then Woe Is You, Pauly. Woe To The Max.

They Were Trying To Run, Trying To Hide. But The Rock Would Not Hide Them; The Dead Tree Gave No Shelter.

I Am, When You Stop To Think Of It, A Member Of A Fairly Select Group: The Final Handful Of American Novelists Who Learned To Read And Write Before They Learned To Eat A Daily Helping Of Video Bullshit.

Life Isn't A Support System For Art. It's The Other Way Around.