A Man Could Get Used To Anything

No Longer Will You Be A Weird Robinson Crusoe, Imprisoned On An Island Of Night Surrounded By Oceans Of Death.

But It Was Hard To Keep His Hands Still. He Could Almost Feel Them Twitching Emphatically With His Strong Desire To Reach Out And Stroke The Dog's Head. He Had Such A Terrible Yearning To Love Something Again, And The Dog Was Such A Beautiful Ugly Dog.

When I'm Writing, Especially When I'm Writing In First Person, I Don't Think About The Characterization, Or How They Are Going To Express Themselves, I Just Express My Own Approach To These Things. I Think Most Writers Can Never Divorce Themselves From Their Private Lives And Personas; They Are The Ones That Are Writing. And The More They Remove Themselves From Their Own Persona, The More, Perhaps, Mechanical The Work Becomes.

(after Death.) So Few People Who Come Across, Possess Awareness Of Any Kind. All They Bring Along With Them Are Worthless Values. All They Desire Is Continuation Of What They Had In Life No Matter How Misguided Or Degraded. . . Will Those People Ever Progress, Even With Our Help?

Really Now, Search Your Soul, Lovie-is The Vampire So Bad? All He Does Is Drink Blood.