If you really want to be a writer, write. And remember that all the doors have to stay open to let everything in.

Love is the law. Still. In spite of all the evidence you may see to the contrary.

The human race will die out. And then the shenanigans will stop.

War in all its permeations seems to be the permanent state of human affairs. War declared and undeclared but the greatest battleground is within each and every human heart.

Every time you fuck up you give art a chance.

How do you think it will look, the product of a couple of pieces of damaged goods?