If you were any good at this, someone would have noticed by now.

Decades later, encouraged by a friend to obtain his old psychiatric reports, he was mortified to read what he had perceived to be a courageous hero’s journey described as the petulant dithering of a timid neurotic.

She inwardly cherished the same neurotic traits she despised in the rest of her family.

Wear as many clothes as possible. Avoid cameras, mirrors, and other reflective surfaces.

Attempting to escape the feeling was worse than the feeling itself.

An unfinished novel, left along a road, picked apart by crows.

For a short time you get a free pass,
but then the shit starts to hit the fan.

Isn’t it about time you drop that veneer of confident expertise and admit you don’t know anything? You can barely keep your underwear clean, for godsake.

I keep thinking we might be able to reverse-engineer this whole fucking disaster.

The word practice—cultivating a veneer of respectability while retaining the frisson of artistic endeavor.

I would rather die than create a logo with a leaf in it.

Birds invented music; flowers invented art.

Their language has been eradicated, but their food remains.