There's Something Ugly About The Flawless.

Vanity Is A Weakness. I Know This. It's A Shallow Dependence On The Exterior Self, On How One Looks Instead Of What One Is. I Know This Well... Vanity And Dishonesty May Be Vices, But They're Also The First Forms Of Protection I Ever Knew.

I Found That I Could Write Two Kinds Of Short Stories: I Could Write Very Absurd, Kind Of Surrealistic, Funny Stories; Or I Could Write Very Dark, Realistic - Hyper-realistic - Stories. I Was Never Happy With That, Because I Couldn't Meld The Two.

I Have A Lot Of Rage About Things That Didn't Happen To Me, Tied Up With Watching An Immigrant, Working-class Father Struggle To Make His Way Through The World - And Seeing How Society Was Modeled To Keep Him In His Place.

He Wondered If This Was What Clinical Depression Felt Like, A Total Numbness, A Weary Lack Of Hope.

How Am I Supposed To Let You Go, That's All I'm Asking. I Want To Hold You Again, Smell You, And, Yes Too, I Just Want You To Fade. To Please, Please Fade.