This Life Is But The Childhood Of

When We Were Arguing On My Twenty-fourth Birthday, She Left The Kitchen, Came Back With A Pistol, And Fired It At Me Five Times From Right Across The Table. But She Missed. It Wasn't My Life She Was After. It Was More. She Wanted To Eat My Heart And Be Lost In The Desert With What She'd Done, She Wanted To Fall On Her Knees And Give Birth From It, She Wanted To Hurt Me As Only A Child Can Be Hurt By Its Mother.

All These Weirdos, And Me Getting A Little Better Every Day Right In The Midst Of Them. I Had Never Known, Never Even Imagined For A Heartbeat, That There Might Be A Place For People Like Us.

After The Film It Was Raining, A Light Steady Rain. Ruthless Neon On The Wet Streets Like Busted Candy.

I Was Probably 35 When I Wrote The First Story. The Voice Is Kind Of A Mix In That It Has A Young Voice, But It's Also Someone Who's Looking Back. I Like That Kind Of Double Vision.

This Life Is But The Childhood Of Our Immortality.