"And as I pass by a dumpster, I realize every specific thing I worry about is nothing compared to the main worry I have which never has an object."
"I stood sweating on the street with vague and unguided thoughts about being an architect who knows nothing, but tries, learning what not to do the next time—each next time having less and less energy to produce anything."
"Writers who claim to want to help you or make you better or claim to want to do anything other than make something are full of shit and shouldn’t be trusted. Nobody has any idea what it’s like to live three seconds in your life. Wanting to ‘help’ someone means that you close them off as a concept, with an arbitrary goal. You make someone into a fucking idea. You make his/her life into an idea. If someone’s writing helps you in some way, thank him/her and move on. I’m thankful whenever someone says something I wrote helped them or made them feel better but that’s not what I’m trying to do. Writing barely helps me to understand my life, let alone anyone else’s. I have no idea how to help people and I also have no idea whose life should be made better or what that would even mean. Mostly, I envision the whole writer/reader/living process as an endless dark body of water where everyone is always sinking and sometimes you get close enough to see them, but they’re sinking too and you both just shrug and keep sinking. The only kind of writers/writing that can help you, is ‘how to’ books on like, building a cabinet or something science related, and that’s only if you are building a cabinet or trying to do some science. Not trying to be a ‘salty-ass dick’ here but like, whenever I read writers ‘getting their bullshit on’ during an interview it’s really ignorant. At the same time, this is coming from someone whose best friend is a cat."