But I Have No Mind For Business

“this Is Hurting Me A Lot More Than It’s Hurting You,” He Said. It Was His Standard Line, But I Knew That This Time He Was Right. Worse Than The Boil Was The Stuff That Came Out Of It. What Got To Me, And Got To Him Even Worse, Was The Stench, Which Was Unbearable, And Unlike Anything I Had Come Across Before. It Was, I Thought, What Evil Must Smell Like - Not An Evil Person But The Wicked Ideas That Have Made Him That Way. How Could A Person Continue To Live With Something So Rotten Inside? And So Much Of It!

I Think If You Write Humor, Then People Don't - You Know - They Don't Give You That Much Credit. They Tend To Think You Just Dictate Your Stories Into A Tape Recorder. And I'm Not Necessarily Insulted By That, Because I Think That Just Means That It Looks Easy.

I Would Be Writing And Trying To Write Like Joan Didion. Or If I Was Reading Raymond Carver. You Know, Strong Stylists. But That's How You Find Your Voice, Is Imitating Other People. So Things Like That Didn't Embarrass Me, Because I Thought, Well, That's How It Goes. That's How Everyone Learns.

The Landscape Is Best Described As 'pedestrian Hostile.' It's Pointless To Try To Take A Walk, So I Generally Just Stay In The Room And Think About Shooting Myself In The Head.

A History Of Listening To Top 40 Radio Had Left Me With A Ridiculous And Clichéd Notion Of Love. I Had Never Entertained The Feeling Myself But Knew That It Meant Never Having To Say You're Sorry. It Was A Many-splendored Thing. Love Was A Rose And A Hammer. Both Blind And All-seeing, It Made The World Go Round.