If I Basically View Criticism As Sort

If Rain Is God Crying, I Think God Is Drunk And His Girlfriend Just Slept With Zeus.

Sometimes I Think That The Amount Of Time You Live On Earth Is Just An Inverse Reflection Of How Good You Were In A Previous Existence. For Example, Infants Who Die From Sids Were Actually Great People When They Were Alive For Real, So They Get To Go To Heaven After A Mere Five Weeks In Purgatory. Meanwhile Anyone Willard Scott Ever Congratulated For Turning One Hundred Two Was Obviously A Terrible Individual Who Had Many Many Previous Sins To Pay For And Had To Spend A Century In His Or Her Own Unknown Purgatory Even Though The Person Seemed Perfectly Wholesome In This Particular World.

When You're Writing For Newspapers You Have All These Parameters. You Can't Swear, You Have To Use Short Paragraphs, All That. If You Stay Within Those Parameters, You Have Lots Of Freedom Because You're Writing For The Next Day.

We All Eventually Become Whatever We Pretend To Hate.

The Deeper Reality Is That I’m Not Sure If What I Do Is Real. I Usually Believe That I’m Certain About How I Feel, But That Seems Naive. How Do We Know How We Feel?…there Is Almost Certainly A Constructed Schism Between (a) How I Feel, And (b) How I Think I Feel. There’s Probably A Third Level, Too—how I Want To Think I Feel.