I'm going to start writing again. Prose. And it's going to be on the par of what I used to write. Thousands of pages of bullshit.

I remember the time when stories flowed out of me in the most believable third person, but my soul has dried up like the desert river. All I have the capacity to do is imagine what would happen if I lied, and imagine what would happen if I told the truth. This is not going to be easy, but I figure if I just write autobiographical fiction, and then manufacture reactions the way I do in my head...I'll be okay.