A Writer's Job Is To

Imagine A Plague You Catch Through Your Ears.

Every Day: Wear Sunblock. Cover Your Gray. Do Not Go Insane. Eat Less Fats And Sugars. Do More Sit-ups. Don’t Start Forgetting Stuff. Trim The Hair In Your Ears. Take Calcium. Moisturize. Every Day. Freeze In Time To Stay In One Place Forever. Do Not Get Frigging Old.

A Knife, It Felt Like A Knife, And I'd Discovered That Despite Everything That's Happened, I Still Had An Endless Untapped Potential For Getting Hurt.

The Only Funny Part About Colonial Dunsboro Is Maybe It's Too Authentic, But For All The Wrong Reasons. This Whole Crowd Of Losers And Nutcases Who Hide Out Here Because They Can't Make It In The Real World, In Real Jobs — Isn't This Why We Left England In The First Place? To Establish Our Own Alternate Reality. Weren't The Pilgrims Pretty Much The Crackpots Of Their Time? For Sure, Instead Of Just Wanting To Believe Something Different About God's Love, The Losers I Work With Want To Find Salvation Through Compulsive Behaviors.

Get Through The Moment. Avoid Confrontation. Run Away. That's Pretty Much How We Get Through Our Own Lives, Watching Television. Smoking Crap. Self-medicating. Redirecting Our Own Attention. Jacking Off. Denial.