Hey, You Created Me! I Didn't Create

You’ve Thrown Down The Gauntlet. You’ve Brought My Wrath Down Upon Your House. Now, To Prove That I Exist I Must Kill You. As The Child Outlives The Father, So Must The Character Bury The Author. If You Are, In Fact, My Continuing Author, Then Killing You Will End My Existence As Well. Small Loss. Such A Life, As Your Puppet, Is Not Worth Living. But… If I Destroy You And Your Dreck Script, And I Still Exist… Then My Existence Will Be Glorious, For I Will Become My Own Master.

I'm Not Really Into Comfort Books. There Are Too Many Of Those As It Is. Just Sort Of Narcotic Books, Like My Grandmother Used To Read. They Have Value Like Paxil Has Value, But There's Plenty Of Them In The World Already. There's A Shortage Of Confronting, Stimulating, Exciting Books.

Regret, Daisy Knew, Was The Only Confirmation Of A Well-lived Life. If You Didn't Occasionally Go Too Far, You Weren't Going Anywhere.

If I Can't Be Beautiful, I Want To Be Invisible.

It's Pathetic How We Can't Live With The Things We Can't Understand. How We Need Everything Labeled And Explained And Deconstructed.