I Was Pretty Far Gone, But Not

Your Writing Voice Is The Deepest Possible Reflection Of Who You Are. The Job Of Your Voice Is Not To Seduce Or Flatter Or Make Well-shaped Sentences. In Your Voice, Your Readers Should Be Able To Hear The Contents Of Your Mind, Your Heart, Your Soul.

And Still The Brain Continues To Yearn, Continues To Burn, Foolishly, With Desire. My Old Man's Brain Is Mocked By A Body That Still Longs To Stretch In The Sun And Form A Beautiful Shape In Someone Else's Gaze, To Lie Under A Blue Sky And Dream Of Helpless, Selfless Love, To Behold Itself, Illuminated, In The Golden Light Of Another's Eyes.

Staying Alive Was What We Did To Pass The Time.

The Soldier Had Stamped My Passport Family In Heavy Black Capital Letters And I Checked It Now For Reassurance And Because I Liked How Fierce The Word Looked

Osbert Was The Only One Who Didn't Seem Suspicious. He Was So Interested In The Decline Of Western Civilization That He Missed The Version Of It Taking Place Under His Nose.