- As if these books of blank pages purchased as gifts are going to be full of ideas…

- Why is it that we feel like we’re constantly being watched by some ungodly force? A voice that only we can hear resonate as we finally lay our heads down on the desks and continue to search for the proper bubble to fully darken in. All of the above and all of the below. We need normal kids for these game shows.

- And so we become the dust sleeves and slip covers of a forgotten trend that has ultimately given up on trying to tell us which way to walk and how to contain our originality, just so long as we file ourselves under the right heading before the closing bell falsely rings at five o’clock sharp.

- At this point, we’re so insignificant to each other and everyone else that there is absolutely no reason why anyone should even pretend to be friends or even acquaintances. We aren’t like the looks we give, or the words we force ourselves to refrain from shouting, biting our tongues until everyone is miraculously turning red again.

- We’re swimming around in this unconscious center of being alive in this square and having to deal with being the only people who hear these thoughts as they slowly start to reiterate the same message that sounds recycled and yet nevertheless still coherently blank: We’re talking and they hear nothing and yet we’re always available to listen.

- A forced offer of reconciliation is supposed to work better than the awkwardness of simply dealing with the fact that this other person is still alive, still breathing and still thinking the exact same thing. A clean and concise message that looks, feels and tastes like “fuck you” with the bleak and staged subtlety of a communal passing of the wine bottle, like snubbing your neighbors while mowing the lawn.