If They Asked How I Died Tell

Good Authors Mature Over Time: It Does Take Awhile. Travel Abroad And Learn To Live In Other Cultures. That's One Of The Things About Teaching Abroad.

Culture Is Like A Smog. To Live Within It, You Must Breathe Some Of It In And, Inevitably, Be Contaminated.

If They Asked How I Died Tell Them: Still Angry.

For All That We Have Done, As A Civilization, As Individuals, The Universe Is Not Stable, And Nor Is Any Single Thing Within It. Stars Consume Themselves, The Universe Itself Rushes Apart, And We Ourselves Are Composed Of Matter In Constant Flux. Colonies Of Cells In Temporary Alliance, Replicating And Decaying And Housed Within, An Incandescent Cloud Of Electrical Impulse And Precariously Stacked Carbon Code Memory. This Is Reality, This Is Self Knowledge, And The Perception Of It Will, Of Course, Make You Dizzy.

Pretty Much Anything You Care To Imagine Can Happen In A Fantasy, Which In Turn Means You Can Really Crank Up The Intensity Of The Tale You're Telling.