“He was standing in the shadows on my porch one night, waiting for me”

Going through the grieving process, and the tricks we play on ourselves.

What comes first, the words or the pictures? Now we know.

“The blood had always been the only part that moved her.”

“No one did anything. Those ladies have diseases.”

“The problem is you’re the guy who paints fucking purple mountains”

“We didn’t brain any geeks. We made a joke with a dead rabbit.”

“Like a guy downloading porn when his wife’s due back soon”

“trying to piece together the mosaic of their shared lives”

I will think, "I bet astronauts have strained social dynamics," or "what if there was a rock star that was also a flower?" Then I will write a one page thing and forget about it for awhile.