There is no past. My heart was ripped from me in a rush of flashing lights and sticky yellow tape. There is no future. Vision would require hope, and that stealthy whore eludes me at every turn. So I float in the ether, pasty skin crawling with regret, eyes gouged out by my own shaking hands.
Richard Thomas, author, editor, and friend who is legally obligated not to sue me if I run his foot over with my wheelchair, chose the lines above from his book for you, my readers.
This book is going to be good. Buy it here:
If you have the audacity to not take my word for it, read reviews here:
If I were you, right after I bought the book, I’d go to the following link and follow Richard’s blog: