Me And Ma Have A Deal, We're

It's All Real In Outside, Everything There Is, Because I Saw An Airplane In The Blue Between The Clouds. Ma And Me Can't Go There Because We Don't Know The Secret Code, But It's Real All The Same. Before I Didn't Know To Be Mad That We Can't Open Door, My Head Was Too Small To Have Outside In It.

Writing Is Nearly Always A Matter Of Finding Whatever Your Brain Needs To Trick It Into Being Creative, And In My Case, A Tiny Little Bit Of Fact Just Seems To Work.

There Are So Many Examples Today Of How The Kind Of Wonderful Zealousness And Unquestioning Loyalty Of Young People Can Be Harnessed By All Sorts Of Insidious Powers.

I'm Very Interested In How Idealistic Young People Can Get Caught Up In All Sorts Of Systems Of Extreme Belief, You Know, Whether It's Cults Or Whether It's Suicide Bombers.

[e]verywhere I'm Looking At Kids, Adults Mostly Don't Seem To Like Them, Not Even The Parents Do. They Call The Kids Gorgeous And So Cute, They Make The Kids Do The Thing All Over Again So They Can Take A Photo, But They Don't Want To Actually Play With Them, They'd Rather Drink Coffee Talking To Other Adults. Sometimes There's A Small Kid Crying And The Ma Of It Doesn't Even Hear.