A Good Argument, Like A

Google Is So Strange. It Promises Everything, But Everything Isn’t There. You Type In The Words For What You Need, And What You Need Becomes Superfluous In An Instant, Shadowed Instantaneously By The Things You Really Need, And None Of Them Answerable By Google.

Fashion Is Fickle, And I Was Published Because I Was Fashionable. Because I Was Gay.

There Is A Kind Of Poetry, Bad And Good, In Evrything, Everywhere We Look.

And It Was Always The Stories That Needed The Telling That Gave Us The Rope We Could Cross Any River With. They Balanced Us High Above Any Crevasse. They Made Us Be Natural Acrobats. They Made Us Brave. They Met Us Well. They Changed Us. It Was In Their Nature To.

Do You Come To Art To Be Comforted, Or Do You Come To Art To Be Re-skinned?