The Term Itself--my Life--is A Desperate Overstatement.

Ecology Is Boring For The Same Reason That Destruction Is Fun.

Air Travel Reminds Us Who We Are. It's The Means By Which We Recognize Ourselves As Modern. The Process Removes Us From The World And Sets Us Apart From Each Other. We Wander In The Ambient Noise, Checking One More Time For The Flight Coupon, The Boarding Pass, The Visa. The Process Convinces Us That At Any Moment We May Have To Submit To The Force That Is Implied In All This, The Unknown Authority Behind It, Behind The Categories, The Languages We Don't Understand. This Vast Terminal Has Been Erected To Examine Souls.

Something Is Always Happening, Even On The Quietest Days And Deep Into The Night, If You Stand A While And Look.

The Family Was An Art ... And The Dinner Table Was The Place It Found Expression.

Perhaps We've Invented Conspiracies For Our Own Psychic Well-being, To Heal Ourselves.