What Idiocy, To Racing Into This Story

It's The Essence Of A Degenerating Mind Periodically, To Lose All Sense Of Continuous Self, And Therefore Any Regard For What Others Think Of Your Lack Of Continuity.

I'm Holding Back, Delaying The Information. I'm Lingering In The Prior Moment Because It Was A Time When Other Outcomes Were Still Possible.

What I've Discovered And Really Confirmed To Myself Is That Opera Really Likes Loud Colours, And You Need Something Bold, Something Savage, Unpredictable, Passionate. You Can't Really Run A Two-hour Opera Round Some Muted Murmuring.

A Story Was A Form Of Telepathy. By Means Of Inking Symbols Onto A Page, She Was Able To Send Thoughts And Feelings From Her Mind To Her Reader's. It Was A Magical Process, So Commonplace That No One Stopped To Wonder At It.

Arguing With A Dead Man In A Lavatory Is A Claustrophobic Experience.