“Drifting in and out See the road you’re on You came rolling down the cheek You say just what you need And in between It’s never as it seems Help me to make it Help me to make it If you built yourself a myth You’d know just what to give What comes after this Momentary bliss The consequence Of what you do to me Help me to make it Help me to make it Found yourself in a new direction Aeons far from the sun Can you come? Would they come to breach you? Let you know you’re not the only one You can’t keep hangin’ on To all that’s dead and gone If you built yourself a myth You’d know just what to give Do you lie? Oh, let the ashes fly Help me to make it Help me to make it”

“I wasn’t distracted, not exactly. It wasn’t the same as not being able to pay attention. It was about too much attention, about not feeling safe if I looked away. I was like the patient who, when the pain meds wear off, slams the button until the morphine kicks in again. I was reading the news and when it was too painful, going to look at anything else—affluence, gossip, porn, horoscopes, status updates—trying to figure out what was happening, was there a way to stop it, or a way to feel hope, or even just to feel, and with each click I believed I increased my chance of seeing the way out by reading more and more. But the more I saw, the more I was lost, and the way out was not there.”

“All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness.”