It’s Hard, In America, Not To Equate

What, Really, Was The Difference Between Something Hounding You And Something Leading You Somewhere?

I Was Aware Too How Strange Adults Were, How Theirs Lives Were Vaster Than They Wanted Anyone To Realize, That They Actually Stretched On And On Like Deserts, Dry And Desolate, With An Unpredictable, Shifting Sea Of Dunes.

For Every Man There Exists Bait He Cannot Resist Swallowing.

I Hate How The People Who Really Get You Are The Ones You Can Never Hold On To For Very Long. And The Ones Who Don’t Understand You At All Stick Around.

Certainly One Of The Surprising Truths Of Having A Book Published Is Realizing That Your Book Is As Open To Interpretation As An Abstract Painting. People Bring Their Own Beliefs And Attitudes To Your Work, Which Is Thrilling And Surprising At The Same Time.