Maria Panic Laign 

My latest story: Owls, Pencils, Avocado panic.pub/owls

Time heals nothing. It just recalibrates your definition of pain.

Twitter is symbolic. You get a notification, and you are fooled into thinking somebody has engaged with your thoughts. Yet it's a notification that somebody else has had their own thoughts.

Screaming is a good response to anything. When you scream in public, people will let you have your way just to part ways with you sooner. Also, try that in private with your own bullshit.

In Autumn magic stories from childhood become magic again. It's as if the skies are raining childhood dreams and memories and things we hoped for but forgot. Yet we step on them on the pavement -- oblivious, lost, deformed to try to make sense of everything.

If I am to fall asleep again, dissolve me in "Mulholland Drive" forever, or don't waste my fucking time.

There are people taking sleep pills right now; could their secret plan be to wake up in April?

Leave black magic alone. It survived without you for centuries.

Grab a handful of August days with you. In December you will want each one of them.

Take one day off and it's refreshing. Take one night off and it's exhausting. Nights are not to be wasted.

I have no mouth and I must scream

Every night I turn into something completely different. With the sunset, even my skin becomes darker. Imagine what's going on inside.

Hardly a day passes without me reflecting on what it could have meant. What lessons and discoveries once possible, are now lost forever with it?

All my stories are about people, but ironically, I can only write when it's dark, quiet, and there's no human in sight.

Feeling that urge to start writing in English again.

Twitter is best. It's like talking to a wall.