Ultimately, You Can Only Ever Write What

He Felt For A Moment Uncreated. Another Kind Of Awake.

With All Respects To Heaven, I Like It Here.

And I Suddenly Think, As I Look Across The Table At Him, That These Are The Days As They Will Be. This Is The Future As We See It. The Swerve And The Static. The Confidence And The Doubt.

The World Does Not Turn Without Moments Of Grace. Who Cares How Small.

I'm Of The Opinion That The Real Is Imagined And The Imagined Is Quite Real. The Real Is Imagined, In The Sense That We Shape Our Stories, So Anything That Even Happens On The News Gets Shaped In A Certain Way And Gets A Texture, And That The Imagined Can Be Real.