It’s always the worst at night. I have no idea why.
That’s when the images and sounds flood my mind. It’s as though someone made a movie and I saw only the first part. I loved the movie and wanted to see all of it. I loved it so much that I wanted to live in it, but I couldn’t.
And then someone had all the images and sounds and smells and emotions from the rest of that movie — and feeds bits and pieces of them to me at random times. It’s warm and loving images of love and family and home and everything I’ve ever wanted.
There‘s a projector on the inside of my skull — and someone plays those images. What I see teases me and torments me, but I can’t make them go away. I don‘t even know whether I want them to go away.
She’s always there. But she’s not really there.

Steve Jobs goes out as iconoclastic visionary many of us long to be
I was in love with her voice and didn’t want that call to ever end
Creative process isn’t pretty, but it provides real joy when it works
Before you can rescue other folks, you have to learn to save yourself
Goodbye, Thomas (1994-2012)
Trump’s rabid defenders selling their souls for a narcissistic liar
Donald Trump’s jingoistic tribalism marks him as a dangerous buffoon
Was life planned before birth? What did you come here to learn?
NOTEBOOK: If results confuse Paul’s aides, how competent are they?