I'm On The Verge Of A Total

Maybe My Work Isn't A Cry For Help. It May Just Be A Baby's Need To Cry Or A Dog's Need To Bark. You Know, Barks That Seem Connected To Phantom Noises And Cries That Just Come; Though A Baby's Cries Are Usually Efficient - Something Is Bothering Them. Anyway, I Think Giving Money Is A Sign Of Love. If You Truly Want To Help Someone, A Lot Of Times Giving Them Money Is The Best Thing You Can Do.

I Hid My Underwear Beneath A Parked Peugeot.

Whether I'm Writing Scripts Or Prose, The Goal Is Identical. To Give Pleasure. Now Whether I Succeed Or Not Is Up For Debate, And, Mostly, I Fail. But I Try. I Like To Make Things. It's A Way To Stay Busy During One's Ephemeral And Confusing Life.

The Work Changes The Way Your Face Changes And Ages - It Just Does. Also, I Have Very Little Connection To Anything I've Written. I Move On. We All Move On

Nothing Wrong With Changing Your Mind. That's A Very Unwaffling Thing To Say: "nothing Wrong..." Who Am I To Say That There's Nothing Wrong With It? Maybe Something Is Wrong With Changing Your Mind. Anyway, Love Is Very, Very Difficult. I Love. But Probably Because I Hate Myself On Some Deep, Sick Level, It Makes Loving Difficult. But I Do Try.