He pointed the rifle at Orion’s Belt and squeezed off a round. Missed, or too early to tell.

I may be a barbarian, but never a Luddite.

The amplified ukulele music was giving me a migraine.

When, you wonder, does Sarah go west and build her rambling mansion? Not yet. Soon, but not yet. First, her husband has to do a blood-coughing two-step off this mortal coil.

It grew steadily dimmer, God’s thumb on the dial.

Reality was a makeshift prop, an amalgamation of agreed-upon conjecture, a consensus of self-limiting parameters and paradigms made palatable by endless speculation fueled by madness and hope and no mean amount of good dope.

Do you supplicate plutonium? Do you sing hymns to uranium? We bask in the corona of an insensate majesty. In its sway we seek to lay the foundation blocks of a new city, a new civilization. We’re pioneers. Our frontier is the grand wasteland between Alpha and Omega.

I cannot explain, nor must an artist defend his work or elucidate in such a way the reeling audience can fathom, brutes that they are.

The look in your eyes, boy. You’re afraid. A man like you is afraid, I take stock.” “I’ve known some fearless men. Hunted lions with them. A few of those gents forgot that Mother Nature is more of a killer than we humans will ever be and wound up getting chomped. She wants our blood, our bones, our goddamned guts. Fear is healthy.

The subconscious is a doorway to the infinite.