The Tiny Space, The Toilet, Two Hundred

I Would Pay Snakes To Bite Her.

I Tiger Can Smile A Snake Will Say It Loves You Lies Make Us Evil

I Take Pens And I Write On The Inside Of My Arm. When I'm With People And Somebody Says A Really Fascinating Anecdote, Or Fact, Or Phrase, I'll Write It On The Inside Of My Arm. At The End Of The Day, I'll Take The Very Best Things That Are On My Arm And I'll Copy Them Into A Notebook That I Always Carry And Only When The Weather Is Absolutely Terrible Will I Really Key The Very Best Of That Notebook Into The Computer. At That Point, It's All Sort Of Censored Twice - Only The Best Things Go From The Arm To The Book And Only The Best Things Go From The Book To The Computer.

Masochism Is A Valuable Job Skill.

How This Feels Is I'm Just Another Task In God's Daily Planner: The Renaissance Pencilled In For Right After The Dark Ages. The Information Age Is Scheduled Immediately After The Industrial Revolution. Then The Post-modern Era, Then The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse. Famine. Check. Pestilence. Check. War. Check. Death. Check. And Between The Big Events, The Earthquakes And Tidal Waves, God's Got Me Squeezed In For A Cameo Appearance. Then Maybe In Thirty Years, Or Maybe Next Year, God's Daily Planner Has Me Finished.