Free People Have A Serious Problem With

For The World Is Broken, Sundered, Busted Down The Middle, Self Ripped From Self And Man Pasted Back Together As Mythical Monster, Half Angel, Half Beast, But No Man...some Day A Man Will Walk Into My Office As A Ghost Or Beast Or Ghost-beast And Walk Out As A Man, Which Is To Say Sovereign Wanderer, Lordly Exile, Worker And Waiter And Watcher.

I Have Discovered That Most People Have No One To Talk To, No One, That Is, Who Really Wants To Listen. When It Does At Last Dawn On A Man That You Really Want To Hear About His Business, The Look That Comes Over His Face Is Something To See.

Maybe There Are Times When An Honest Hatred Serves Us Better Than Love Corrupted By Sentimentality, Meretriciousness, Sententiousness, Cuteness.

My Mother Refused To Let Me Fail. So I Insisted.

Other People, So I Have Read, Treasure Memorable Moments In Their Lives: The Time One Climbed The Parthenon At Sunrise, The Summer Night One Met A Lonely Girl In Central Park And Achieved With Her A Sweet And Natural Relationship, As They Say In Books. I Too Once Met A Girl In Central Park, But It Is Not Much To Remember. What I Remember Is The Time John Wayne Killed Three Men With A Carbine As He Was Falling To The Dusty Street In Stagecoach, And The Time The Kitten Found Orson Welles In The Doorway In The Third Man.