Succotash My Balzac, Dipshiitake.

As A Writer, Putting Words On The Page Is How I Pay Attention.

I Said, 'i Need To Know How He Died.' He Flipped Back And Pointed At, 'why?' So I Can Stop Inventing How He Died. I'm Always Inventing.

Only Humans Can Cry Tears.

I Realized That Your Mother Couldn't See The Emptiness, She Couldn't See Anything...all Of The Words I'd Written To Her Over All Of Those Years, Had I Never Said Anything To Hear At All?

The Only Thing Worse Than Being Sad Is For Others To Know You Are Sad.