My Heart And The Elevator, A Plummet

To The Resentment That Hides Inside Love, To The Loneliness That Hides Among Companions.

By Removing The Stories From The Morass Of Things That Surround Us, I'm Hoping To Achieve Some Kind Of Purer Approach To Emotional Life.

It's Now Expected Of Me That I Will Defy Expectation, So I Really Generally Seem To Be Free To Write What I Want.

In The Sea Of Words, The In Print Is Foam, Surf Bubbles Riding The Top. And It's A Dark Sea, And Deep, Where Divers Need Lights On Their Helmets And Would Perish At The Lower Depths.

For Those Whose Ganglia Were Formed Pre-tv, The Mimetic Deployment Of Pop-culture Icons Seems At Best An Annoying Tic And At Worst A Dangerous Vapidity That Compromises Fiction's Seriousness By Dating It Out Of The Platonic Always, Where It Ought To Reside.