I've gotten thrown out of thirty-seven straight games. Once or twice, I've had to go really crazy. I ran onto the court with eleven seconds left once and stole the ball from the other team. It wasn't pretty. But, you know. I have a streak to maintain.
My question? It has no answer.
When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.
How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?
Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.
That swan is the spawn of Satan. Never get closer to it than we are now.
It’s not imaginary. It’s my great perhaps.
I wondered whether I could find a Great Perhaps here at all or whether I had made a grand miscalculation.
The pigs can’t stop the fox; I’m too quick. I can rhyme while I run; I’m that slick.
This mystery can’t be solved. We have to live with that for the rest of our lives.
And I wrote my way out of the labyrinth.
Not to ask the obvious question, but why Alaska?
The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.
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