What Happens To The Rest Of Something

She Went Out In The City With Its Lights Like A Radioactive Phosphorescence, Wandered Through Galleries Where The High-priced Art On The Walls Was The Same As The Graffiti Scrawled Outside By Taggers Who Were Arrested Or Killed For It, Went To Parties In Hotel Rooms Where White-skinned, Lingerie-clad Rock Stars Had Been Staying The Night Their Husbands Shot Themselves In The Head, Listened To Music In Nightclubs Where Stunning Boyish Actors Had Od'd On The Pavement.

Write With Abandon And No Constraints For First Draft. Cut Brutally And Save In Separate Files On Second Draft. Add Conflict; Don't Be Afraid To Make Your Characters Suffer. Read What You Love. Write What You Love. Love.

Welcome Beauty, Banish Fear.

War Is Being Reminded That You Are Completely At The Mercy Of Death At Every Moment, Without The Illusion That You Are Not. Without The Distractions That Make Life Worth Living.

You Were Just A Boy On A Bed In A Room, Like A Kaleidoscope Is A Tube Full Of Bits Of Broken Glass. But The Way I Saw You Was Pieces Refracting The Light, Shifting Into An Infinite Universe Of Flowers And Rainbows And Insects And Planets, Magical Dividing Cells, Pictures No One Else Knew.