He Wanted This Someone To See How

The World Was Ending Then, It's Ending Still, And I'm Happy To Belong To It Again.

Every Good Writer I Know Needs To Go Into Some Deep, Quiet Place To Do Work That Is Fully Imagined. And What The Internet Brings Is Lots Of Vulgar Data. It Is The Antithesis Of The Imagination. It Leaves Nothing To The Imagination.

Being Dead's Only A Problem If You Know You're Dead, Which You Never Do Because You're Dead!

How Could I Have Thought That I Needed To Cure Myself In Order To Fit Into The 'real' World? I Didn't Need Curing, And The World Didn't, Either; The Only Thing That Did Need Curing Was My Understanding Of My Place In It. Without That Understanding - Without A Sense Of Belonging To The Real World - It Was Impossible To Thrive In An Imagined One.

There Is, After All, A Kind Of Happiness In Unhappiness, If It's The Right Unhappiness.