Go Around With Your Eyes Like A

Out In The Ocean, A Rope Is Put Around The Man's Neck. The Other End Of The Rope Is Attached To An Old Jukebox And It Is Thrown Overboard. The Man Invariably Follows.

If You Gather A Lot Of Stuff, Then You Write It, Write In Scenes With Dialogue. Somewhere In The Middle, Rising From All This Research Like Strong Metal Towers, Is Your Opinions.

Anything That Isn't Writing Is Easy

All Political Power Is Primarily An Illusion. Illusion. Mirrors And Blue Smoke, Beautiful Blue Smoke Rolling Over The Surface Of Highly Polished Mirrors, First A Thin Veil Of Blue Smoke, Then A Thick Cloud That Suddenly Dissolves Into Wisps Of Blue Smoke, The Mirrors Catching It All, Bouncing It Back And Forth.

People Born In Queens, Raised To Say That Each Morning They Get On The Subway And "go To The City," Have A Resentment Of Manhattan, Of The Swiftness Of Its Life And Success Of The People Who Live There.