how i wrote my first sci-fi novel at the age of 5

In truth, I only take one piece of paper because I have only ever needed just the one. They say that brevity is an art, or anyway, I say it. To be succinct is to gaze from the shore at the tumultuous sea of language, assess the risk, and smugly self-satisfied, sit safely sipping your maitai in the sand, intent on a long and semi-healthy life. Sometimes being brief takes longer than others, depending on who you are, what your essential nature is. God, for example, has apparently had to sum it all up, and the result was a few very lengthy texts, written in the past when God chose to manifest himself and, according to the sane, never reappear. It stands to reason that He must have done a pretty good job at summation. Considering his magnitude and infinite nature, for God, that ain’t half bad. Unlike God, I, not being infinite in basically any way, take just the one page. I just take a walk around the huddled gunk of my brain, just one lap, and I call it a day.

This is only slightly related, but do you think that maybe when Jesus met a woman of pitiful circumstance and “had compassion on her” that it might be a euphemism for something sexy? I do. I think interpreters turn a blind eye sometimes. Anyway, it’s religion, so I choose to believe that my interpretation is true and you can’t stop me. Belief is faux real. Like art, it has no standards.

Let’s leave nostalgia clutching its cowboy hat in a dirt road dusting, as you and I ride away in our big rig spaceship of lawlessness. Welcome to the future. It’s getting less infinite all the time.