Astray from a deep sleep chronic as I write by phonics, like insomnia I will always live the onyx night for revealing, and, upon it, still I'll steal the bright light of day right away just to keep building at speeds hypersonic.

This is almost always the case: A piece of art receives its f(r)ame when found offensive.

Whenever I think of something but can't think of what it was I was thinking of, I can't stop thinking until I think I'm thinking of it again. I think I think too much.

The best of fiction, as we know, of course, doesn't tell the truth; it tales the truth.