All Of Us. All Of Us. We're

Every Reiteration Of The Idea That _nothing Matters_ Debases The Human Spirit. Every Reiteration Of The Idea That There Is No Drama In Modern Life, There Is Only Dramatization, That There Is No Tragedy, There Is Only Unexplained Misfortune, Debases Us. It Denies What We Know To Be True. In Denying What We Know, We Are As A Nation Which Cannot Remember Its Dreams--like An Unhappy Person Who Cannot Remember His Dreams And So Denies That He Does Dream, And Denies That There Are Such Things As Dreams.

Here's What Happens In A Play. You Get Involved In A Situation Where Something Is Unbalanced. If Nothing's Unbalanced, There's No Reason To Have A Play. If Hamlet Comes Home From School, And His Dad's Not Dead And Asks Him If He's Had A Good Time, It's Boring. But If Something's Unbalanced, It Must Be Returned To Order.

My Alma Mater Is The Chicago Public Library.

You Know, I Once Read An Interesting Book Which Said That, Uh, Most People Lost In The Wilds, They, They Die Of Shame. Yeah, See, They Die Of Shame. 'what Did I Do Wrong? How Could I Have Gotten Myself Into This?' And So They Sit There And They... Die. Because They Didn't Do The One Thing That Would Save Their Lives. Thinking.

There's Something In Me That Just Wants To Create Dialogue.