There are Creators and there are Destroyers. And somewhere in between there are consumers. Life is really short. And books are a great time waster. Live free. The writer is in love with her own sense of self-worth, with her own mind. I say live outside the writer’s world. Live in your own. There’s nothing more amazing than living what the writer fails to capture. When someones asks, “How many books have you read?” My heart feels like punching my brain in the face. All anyone ever does is scratch the surface of anything. Where’s your Truth? Under infinite layers of bullshit. When I was a kid I wanted to write a book called The Observer, where the protagonist would deconstruct the shit out of Life. He witnessed that which he could not live: happiness. It’s easy for some. They’re like unthinking thinking things coasting through life. There’s more darkness and more light. Shards of it everywhere, breaking from one cave into a larger one. Why can’t shadows be real? They’re moving after all. We shape truth as it shapes us. Everyone’s sculpture looks different. And that’s the sound of ideology breaking. Over, and over, and over again.