Fiction Is An Improvement On Life

Are You Becoming What You've Always Hated?

I Remember Awakening One Morning And Finding Everything Smeared With The Color Of Forgotten Love.

Why Do You Insist Upon Destroying Yourself?

We Are Here To Laugh At The Odds.

Art Is Its Own Excuse, And It's Either Art Or It's Something Else. It's Either A Poem Or A Piece Of Cheese.