Friday. Time flies when you least realize it.

Sometimes fate if like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do, is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it. It will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over, you won't remember how you made it through, now you've managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.

Closing your eyes isn't going to change anything. Nothing's gonna disappear just because you can't see what's going on. In fact, things will be even worse the next time you open your eyes. That's the kind of world we live in. Only a coward closes his eyes. Closing up eyes and plugging up ears won't make time stand still.

People soon get tired of things that aren't boing, but not of what is boring. A certain type of perfection can only be realized through limitless accumulation of the imperfect.

A theory is a battlefield in your head. Without counter-evidence to refute a theory, science would never progress.

Like flowers scattered in a storm, man's life is one long farewell.