Stories Have No Point If They Don't

All Human Existence Is A Trick Of Light.

Some Nights I Need To Be Held. Tonight I'm A Listener. So Nice To Lie In Rumpled Sheets And Listen. Cover Me With Words.

People Think About Who They Are In The Stillest Hour Of The Night.

If The World Is Where We Hide From Ourselves, What Do We Do When The World Is No Longer Accessible? We Invent A False Name, Invent A Destiny, Purchase A Firearm Through The Mail.

The True Life Is Not Reducible To Words Spoken Or Written, Not By Anyone, Ever.