We All Flee In Hope

Image Of A Girl Holding A Blaster To A Twin’s Temple. “remember, Bi***. You Can’t Spell ‘danger’ Without Dna.” Blam.

I Eat Broccoli. I Think About The Plot. I Pace In Circles For Hours, Counter-clockwise, Listening To Music. I Try To Think Of One Detail In The Scene I'm About To Write That I'm Really Excited About Writing. Until I Can Come Up With That One Detail, I Pace.

At Long Last, You May No Longer Distinguish What Binds You From What Is You.

People Talk About The Beauty Of The Spring, But I Can't See It. The Trees Are Brown And Bare, Slimy With Rain. Some Are Crawling With New Purple Hairs. And The Buds Are Bulging Like Tumorous Acne, And I Can Tell That Something Wet, And Soft, And Cold, And Misshapen Is About To Be Born. And I Am Turning Into A Vampire.

I Completely Love Music. I Used To Be The Music Critic At 'the Improper Bostonian.' It's Just Something I've Always Loved Very Deeply.