People See What They Want To See

You Are Truly Satan's Sequined Spawn.

I Hate This Place,” Tiara Whimpered. “it’s Super Creepy. Like A Haunted Chuck E. Cheese’s Where The Games All Want To Kill You And You Never Get Your Pizza.

In Books, The Truth Makes Everything Good And Fine. The Good Prevail. The Wicked Are Punished. There Is Happiness. But It's Not Like That Really, Is It?" "no," I Say. "i Suppose It Only Makes Everything Known.

As A Kid, I Imagined Lots Of Different Scenarios For My Life. I Would Be An Astronaut. Maybe A Cartoonist. A Famous Explorer Or Rock Star. Never Once Did I See Myself Standing Under The Window Of A House Belonging To Some Druggie Named Carbine, Waiting For His Yard Gnome To Steal His Stash So I Could Get A Cab Back To A Cheap Motel Where My Friend, A Neurotic, Death-obsessed Dwarf, Was Waiting For Me So We Could Get On The Road To An Undefined Place And A Mysterious Dr. X, Who Would Cure Me Of Mad Cow Disease And Stop A Band Of Dark Energy From Destroying The Universe.

We're All Strangers Connected By What We Reveal, What We Share, What We Take Away--our Stories. I Guess That's What I Love About Books--they Are Thin Strands Of Humanity That Tether Us To One Another For A Small Bit Of Time, That Make Us Feel Less Alone Or Even More Comfortable With Our Aloneness, If Need Be.