Las Vegas Looks The Way You'd Imagine

As A Child Of The 1970s, I Couldn't Hold A Narrative In My Head; I Was Lucky If I Could Hold A Joke In My Head, Because Every Time You Turn On Television Or Radio, It Wipes The Slate Clean - At Least In My Case. After I Gave Up Television, I Found I Could Carry Longer And Longer Stories Or Ideas In My Head And Put Them Together Until I Was Carrying An Entire Short Story. That's Pretty Much When I Started Writing.

It's Obsequious Little Nicety-nice Girls Like Me Who Allow Assholes To Run The World: Miss Harlot O'harlots, Billionaire Phony Tree Huggers, Hypocrite Drug-snorting, Weed-puffing Peace Activists Who Fund The Mass-murdering Drug Cartels And Perpetuate Crushing Poverty In Dirt-poor Banana Republics. It's My Petty Fear Of Personal Rejection That Allows So Many True Evils To Exist. My Cowardice Enables Atrocities.

Me With Nothing Left To Lose, Plotting My Big Revenge In The Spotlight. Give Me Violent Revenge Fantasies As A Coping Mechanism.

Even If You Tell Yourself "today I'm Going To Drink Coffee The Wrong Way ... From A Dirty Boot." Even That Would Be Right, Because You Chose To Drink Coffee From That Boot. Because You Can Do Nothing Wrong. You Are Always Right. Even When You Say, "i'm Such An Idiot, I'm So Wrong..." You're Right. You're Right About Being Wrong. You're Right Even When You're An Idiot. No Matter How Stupid Your Idea, You're Doomed To Be Right Because It's Yours.

Language, She Said, Was Just Our Way To Explain Away The Wonder And Glory Of The World. To Deconstruct. To Dismiss. She Said People Can't Deal With How Beautiful The World Really Is. How It Can't Be Explained And Understood.