I Like The Idea Of A Writer

She Laughs And Looks Out The Window And I Think For A Minute That She's Going To Start To Cry. I'm Standing By The Door And I Look Over At The Elvis Costello Poster, At His Eyes, Watching Her, Watching Us, And I Try To Get Her Away From It, So I Tell Her To Come Over Here, Sit Down, And She Thinks I Want To Hug Her Or Something And She Comes Over To Me And Puts Her Arms Around My Back And Says Something Like 'i Think We've All Lost Some Sort Of Feeling.

And As Things Fell Apart, Nobody Paid Much Attention

There’s No Use In Denying It: This Has Been A Bad Week. I’ve Started Drinking My Own Urine.

I Tried To Make Meat Loaf Out Of The Girl But It Becomes Too Frustrating A Task And Instead I Spend The Afternoon Smearing Her Meat All Over The Walls, Chewing On Strips Of Skin I Ripped From Her Body

I Have No Problems Or Issues With Screenwriting In General.