The metropolis has always been the seat of the money economy.
Death. It's around more than people realize. Because no one wants to talk about it or hear about it. It's too sad. Too painful. Too hard. The list of reasons is endless.
When it all comes down to it, it’s just me and her against the world. Always has been.
It's amazing how the things you remember forever are the things you'd rather forget and the things you desperately want to grasp onto seem to slip away like sand in the wind.
I’m pretty certain my worthless heart shatters inside my chest, and she steals one of the pieces. If it didn’t already belong to someone else I probably would have handed her all the pieces right then and there.
I don't believe that. I don't believe that there are bad things about you. Only things that you think are bad.
When he inches into me, I feel the pain, but I also feel the invisible chains around my wrists break and shatter.
THE WRITER can get free of his writing only by using it, that is, by reading oneself. As if the aim of writing were to use what is already written as a launching pad for reading the writing to come. Moreover, what he has written is read in the process, hence constantly modified by his reading. The book is an unbearable totality. I write against a background of facets.
OY! Stop playing around and lets cook already!" *smack* J-just now, that made a really loud noise. . " Do you wanna hear it again?" N-no, you'll just hit me again!" Kyo and Tohru
Aw, don't worry about that Doc. If it happens I could always come back as a forward.
The true experimenters are there but no-one hears about them - the criticalreview system tends to concentrate on the handful of 'major' writers and their promising successors; bookshops tend not to sell them; publishers don't promote them. It's the same fate as has befallen poetry.