When a person screams in pain, the actual pain is only half the noise they make. The other half is the terror at being forced to accept that they exist.

Writers of literature, if they are real writers, know that their readers are confused about reality and the emotions derived from that reality and are looking for clarity concerning the life that they are engulfed in.

Are we looking for the absolute truth or the absolute feeling? Or the answer that best suits our personal needs?

I have no interest in dying.But I have to. I have to care one day about things that don't matter to me.

The party at the bar was for an Internet literary journal that prints a hard copy version that was famous in the world of Internet literary journals that prints hard copy versions. What that means, I do not know.