My Google-fu Is Strong.

We Should Have Just Killed Him, That's A Lesson, Don't Get Creative With Revenge

The Problem With Most Genre Fantasy Is That It's Not Nearly Fantastic Enough. It's Escapist, But It Can't Escape.

There Is No Knowing Beyond That Membrane, The Meniscus Of Death. What Can Be Seen From Here Is Distorted, Refracted. All We Can Know Are Those Untrustworthy Glimpses--that And Rumour. The Prattle. The Dead Gossip: It Is The Reverberation Of That Gossip Against The Surface Tension Of Death That The Better Mediums Hear. It Is Like Listening To Whispered Secrets Through A Toilet Door. It Is A Crude And Muffled Susurrus.

Ever Since I Was Two, I've Loved Octopuses, Monsters, Abandoned Buildings.

I Do, However, Feel Reasonably Strongly The Sense That The Job Of A Piece Of Argumentative Scholarly Non-fiction Is Not The Same As The Job Of A Piece Of Fiction.