




"When something happens like that, do you feel that your mind is ordering the events and creating the coincidence, or do you think that there’s actually a power in the universe that’s somehow communicating to you? I mean, I know the latter choice is a step toward insanity, but the excitement about those moments is that you feel for a moment that the universe is essentially helping you, speaking to you. Even though you know that, rationally, that’s crazy, it’s impossible to let go of that feeling."
"I’m writing about a flock of crows, and as I was writing about it, a bunch of crows appeared outside the window of my studio. I know it’s obviously a meaningless coincidence, but at such moments I get a very primitive feeling that what I’m writing is manifesting itself in the world. I let myself feel that for the day, even though I don’t really believe it."

I felt really happy. We passed through a small cloud. The cloud seen from inside like this, was gritty, liked spilled earth or dust flakes in a stairwell. Eventually the sun would set for ever — burn out, pop, extinguish — and the universe would run down like a Fisher Price toy whose spring has unwound to its very end. Then there’d be no more music, no more loops. Or maybe, before that, we’d just run out of fuel. For now, though, the clouds tilted and the weightlessness set in once more as we banked, turning, heading back, again.
