Time Does Nothing But Hand You Down

A Particular Piece Of Music Attaches Itself To The Piece I'm Writing, And There Is Nothing Else I Can Listen To. Every Day I Return To The Same Space To Write, The Music Providing Both The Walls And The Pictures On The Walls.

I Cannot Live Or Write Without Music. It Stimulates The Normally Dormant Parts Of My Brain That Come In Handy When Constructing Fiction.

Wherever There's Capitalism There's This Inclination Toward Simplicity. There's Also A Human Need To Process Complicated Things By Turning Them Into Something Else.

Belief And Delusion Are Incestuous Siblings.

Nobody Deserves Death, Yet Everybody Gets It.