The Things You Used To Own, Now

The Air Will Always Be To Filled With Something. Your Body Too Sore Or Tired. Your Father Too Drunk. Your Wife Too Cold. You Will Always Have Some Excuse Not To Live Your Life.

Dude, The Place Is Filling Up," I Say. "it Feels Like We're Living In The Bottom Half Of An Hourglass." Like Somehow We're Running Out Of Time.

Sex Pretty Much Cures Everything.

Am I Sleeping? Have I Slept At All? This Is Insomnia.

With The Novels, I Usually Start From Something In My Own Life That I Can't Resolve, So I Turn It Into A Metaphor And For Months Or Sometimes Years I'll Exhaust All Of My Emotional Reaction To This Issue By Making It Enormous On The Page.