Like we're here, and at the same time, in outer space. Which of course, we are. We're all untethered, all flying around in the dark, the same as Mars and Venus, the same as the stars.

I'm dark matter. The universe inside of me is full of something, and science can't even shine a light on it. I feel like I'm mostly made of mysteries.

I know everyone has dreams of flying, but this isn’t a dream of flying. It’s a dream of floating, and the ocean is not water but wind.

I call it a dream, but it feels realer than my life.

My imperfections make me less mournable.

Are you going to let me be eaten?' Billy Beecham looks stunned.
'Don't you know that sometimes Beast collectors get collected?' I ask him.
'But you're a virgin.'
'Virgins were never sacrifices,' I say. "Not to this kind of Beast. Virgins are collaborators.

...instead of the smoldering, soul-baring, Abelard-to-Heloise-sans-castration solicitations you rightfully deserve, you're getting stupefying lines like: "I'm listening to NPR. Do you want to come over and make out?