If They Asked How I Died Tell

Certainly A Decade And A Half Out In The Real World, Bashing My Head Against Things, Probably Made Me Into A More Textured Writer. It Gives You Something To Write About.

For Me, Any Fiction Of Nobles And Swords Necessarily Has To Be A Story Of Corruption, Injustice And Savagely Violent Conflict - Because Any Other Treatment Is Going To Have All The Heft And Realistic Honesty Of A Bedtime Fairy Tale For Five Year Olds.

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

War Is Like Any Other Bad Relationship. Of Course You Want Out, But At What Price? And Perhaps More Importantly, Once You Get Out, Will You Be Any Better Off?" - Quellcrist Falconer

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.