For Me, Books Have Always Been A

The Real Self And The Public Self Are Intertwined, Like A Tumor Around An Organ, And You Can't Cut The Tumor Or You'll Kill The Organ, So They Live Together, Until The Tumor Chokes The Organ Off - But Which Self Is The Tumor?. Or It's Like Something Out Of Star Trek. The Borg.

I'm On The Verge Of A Total Breakdown. Sciatica. Taxes. Cars. Fleas, Possibly. It's An Absurd Existence.

Some Ego Is Involved Because I Guess One Wants To Be Perceived As A Good Clown And One Puts One's Name On The Art; But It's So Hard To Do Anything In Life, Trapped As We Are In Our Bodies, That Is Purely Selfless For Others... Somehow The Self Is Always Involved.

Oh, God, I Don't Know What's More Difficult, Life Or The English Language.

How Terrible To Be Alcoholic. You Just Want To Quietly Soothe And Maybe Poison Yourself, But You End Up Poisoning Those Around You As Well, Like Trying To Commit Suicide With A Gas Oven And Unwittingly Murdering Your Neighbors.