The Dear, Stupid Body Is As Easily

I Had Been Chipping At The World Idly, And Had By Accident Uncovered Vast And Labyrinthine Further Worlds Within It.

You Search, You Break Your Heart, Your Back, Your Brain, And Then-and Only Then-it Is Handed To You.

Writers Serve As The Memory Of A People. They Chew Over Our Public Past.

Having Chosen This Foolishness, I Was A Free Being. How Could The World Ever Stop Me, How Could I Betray Myself, If I Was Not Afraid?

A Schedule Defends From Chaos And Whim. A Net For Catching Days.