The Only Way I Could Finish A

Any Writer Who Knows What He's Doing Isn't Doing Very Much.

Never Eat In A Place Called 'mom's'.

Our Myths Are So Many, Our Vision So Dim, Our Self-deception So Deep And Our Smugness So Gross That Scarcely Any Way Now Remains Of Reporting The American Century Except From Behind The Billboards.

He Was Falling Between Glacial Walls, He Didn't Know How Anyone Could Fall So Far Away From Everyone Else In The World. So Far To Fall, So Cold All The Way, So Steep And Dark Between Those Morphine-coloured Walls.

And Never, Ever, No Matter What Else You Do In Your Whole Life, Never Sleep With Anyone Whose Troubles Are Worse Than Your Own.