[i]t May Be That A Crowd At

What I Suddenly Understand My Job Is To Make People Uncomfortable. + I Will Do It All My Life. ---> My Mother, Sasha Blake, Is My First Victim.

I Think, The World Is Actually Huge. That's The Part No One Can Really Explain.

I Wonder What Proust Would Have Made Of Our Present-day Locus Of Collective Fantasy, The Internet. I’m Guessing He Would Have Seized On Its Wistful Aspect, Pointing Out Gently And With Wry Humor That Much Of What Beguiles Us Is The Act Of Reaching For What Isn’t There.

Happened As I Listened: I Felt Pain. Not In My Head, Not In My Arm, Not In My Leg; Everywhere At Once. I Told Myself There Was No Difference Between Being “inside” And Being “outside,” That It All Came Down To X’s And O’s That Could Be Acquired In Any Number Of Different Ways, But The Pain Increased To A Point Where I Thought I Might Collapse, And I Limped Away.

He Remembered His Mentor, Lou Kline, Telling Him In The Nineties That Rock And Roll Had Peaked At Monterey Pop. They'd Been In Lou's House In La With Its Waterfalls, The Pretty Girls Lou Always Had, His Car Collection Out Front, And Bennie Had Looked Into His Idol's Famous Face And Thought, You're Finished. Nostalgia Was The End - Everyone Knew That.