I Was Going To Die And It

Are You Angry? Punch A Pillow. Was It Satisfying? Not Hardly. These Days People Are Too Angry For Punching. What You Might Try Is Stabbing. Take An Old Pillow And Lay It On The Front Lawn. Stab It With A Big Pointy Knife. Again And Again And Again. Stab Hard Enough For The Point Of The Knife To Go Into The Ground. Stab Until The Pillow Is Gone And You Are Just Stabbing The Earth Again And Again, As If You Want To Kill It For Continuing To Spin, As If You Are Getting Revenge For Having To Live On This Planet Day After Day, Alone.

He Was Worried She Would Not Let Him Love Her With The Stain. He Had Already Decided Long Ago, Twenty Or Thirty Minutes Ago, That The Stain Was Fine. He Had Only Seen It For A Moment, But He Was Already Used To It. It Was Good. It Somehow Allowed Them To Have More.

I Think Titles Are Tricky Because They're Like A Really Short Ad For The Book. And Like An Ad, They Should Open The Door In A Way That Might Be More Accessible Than The Book Itself. So I Always Like Titles To Be Familiar. I'm Not Trying To Break Ground With The Title Itself. The Title Should Feel Like Something Already Celebrated.

Somewhat Predictably, I'm Much More Comfortable In Front Of An Audience - And A Big Audience Is Even Better - Than Faced With One Stranger. This Always Seems Like A Bit Of A Failing On My Part, As A Human. I Think That's Also Why I Put Myself Situations Where I'm Forced To Engage In Other Ways.

They Wordlessly Excused Each Other For Not Loving Each Other As Much As They Had Planned To. There Were Empty Rooms In The House Where They Had Meant To Put Their Love, And They Worked Together To Fill These Rooms With Midcentury Modern Furniture. ("birthmark").