Depression Is Anger Slowed Down; Panic Is

She's No Lady. Her Songs Are All Unbelievably Unhappy Or Lewd. It's Called Blues. She Sings About Sore Feet, Sexual Relations, Baked Goods, Killing Your Lover, Being Broke, Men Called Daddy, Women Who Dress Like Men, Working, Praying For Rain. Jail And Trains. Whiskey And Morphine. She Tells Stories Between Verses And Everyone In The Place Shouts Out How True It All Is.

You Think You're Safe. Until You See A Picture Like That. And Then You Know You'll Always Be A Slave To The Present Because The Present Is More Powerful Than The Past, No Matter How Long Ago The Present Happened.

It's Important To Attend Funerals. It Is Important To View The Body, They Say, And To See It Committed To Earth Or Fire Because Unless You Do That, The Loved One Dies For You Again And Again.

The World Should Not Be Organized To Require Heroines, And When One Is Required But Fails To Appear, We Should Not Judge.

There Are Some Stories You Can't Hear Enough. They Are The Same Every Time You Hear Them. But You Are Not. That's One Reliable Way Of Understanding Time.