Death Is The Least Civilized Rite Of

What Men Call Adventures Usually Consist Of The Stoical Endurance Of Appalling Daily Misery.

The Length Of Sky Is Just About The Size Of My Ignorance. Pure And Wide.

I Work Really Out Of Mythology, So Often I Work Out Of A Story That Has Remained Lodged Inside Somehow, Or I Work Out Of History, You Know, Out Of A Sense Of Historical Inevitability With Characters.

We Are Conjured Voiceless Out Of Nothing And Must Return To An Unknowing State. What Happens In Between Is An Uncontrolled Dance, And What We Ask For In Love Is No More Than A Momentary Chance To Get The Steps Right, To Move In Harmony Until The Music Stops.

Time Was Rushing Around Me Like Water Around A Big Wet Rock. The Only Difference Is, I Was Not So Durable As Stones. Very Quickly I Would Be Smoothed Away.