I fell for her like a suicide from a bridge.

If you were to try and pick him out of a group of boys$$$ you'd be wrong. He'd be the other one. Over at the side. The one your eye slipped over.

Because there are mysteries. Because there are things that people are forbidden to speak about. Because there are things they do not remember.

Writing is flying in dreams. When you remember. When you can. When it works. It's that easy.

Tell him that we fucking reprogrammed reality. Tell him that language is a virus and that religion is an operating system and that prayers are just so much fucking spam.

He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring because yesterday has brought it.

Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are$$$ so we don't need names.

Really$$$ he thought$$$ if you couldn't trust a poet to offer sensible advice$$$ who could you trust?

The only advice I can give you is what you're telling yourself. Only$$$ maybe you're too scared to listen.

You have a very open relationship with your fans.<br/>"Yes. We have an open relationship. Obviously they can see other authors if they want$$$ and I can see other readers."