I Thought, If I Write A Book

To Be A Person Who Sees A Political Ad On Television And Takes The Statements In It As Fact, How Can You Exist In This World? How Is It You're Not Robbed Daily By Charlatans Who Knock At Your Door?

I Wanted To Hold Happiness In Reserve, Like A Bottle Of Champagne. I Postponed It Because I Was Afraid, Because I Overvalued It, And Then I Didn't Want To Use It Up, Because What Do You Wish For Then?

After I’d Told Her – The Mall, The Taxi, Cross Stroking My Hair – She Said, ‘did He Kiss You?’ ‘john And Martin Totally Would Have Seen That,’ I Said, And As I Felt Myself Implying The Circumstances Had Prevented Our Kissing, I Thought Maybe This Was Why You Told Stories To Other People – For How Their Possibilities Enlarged In The Retelling.

I Think That There's Some Confusion In My Own Mind About What I Believe.

Being Raised In An Unstable Household Makes You Understand That The World Doesn't Exist To Accommodate You, Which... Is Something A Lot Of People Struggle To Understand Well Into Their Adulthood. It Makes You Realize How Quickly A Situation Can Shift, How Danger Really Is Everywhere. But Crises When The Occur, Do Not Catch You Off Guard; You Have Never Believed You Lived Under A Shelter Of Some Essential Benevolence. And An Unstable Childhood Makes You Appreciate Calmness And Not Crave Excitement.