April snow. / God is waiting in the garden. / Slow as a blush,
snow shifts and settles on God. / On God’s bouquet. / The trees are white nerve nets.
“I just make the best book that I can and try to not worry about audience or if it will sell. The odds are against you, so why abuse your talent for the sake of a chimera? The only real pleasure for me in writing comes from pleasing myself.”
William T. Vollmann
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