The truth was stranger than the official fiction.

I'm alive but I have no life. I'm alive but also dead. I'm dead and alive.

Jocko likes salty, Jocko likes sweet, but never bring Jocko any hot sauce, like with jalapenos, because it makes Jocko squirt funny-smelling stuff out his ears.

...it will be a world made not bright but brighter, not clean but cleaner.

Where does fiction end and reality begin?

Literary fiction, as a strict genre, is all but dead. Meanwhile, most genres flourish.