He Reminded Me Of Someone Who Put

Writing Mirrors The Interior Self. You Know, Any Book Is Like The Perfect Blueprint Of The Psyche Of The Author.

We Don't Have A Unitary Society Anymore, You Know; It's Very Fragmented. I Look Up And Down My Block In Silverlake And There Is A Different Universe In Every House.

At Least If You Were Ignorant You Could Do Wat You Wanted. You Had No Idea Wat Had Been Acheived In The Past. You Were Free Instead Of Chewed At By Bleeding Impotence, Dissolved Away Like A Pearl In Acid

The Sound Of Her Laughter Was Sticky As Sap, The Smell Of Night-blooming Jasmine Soft As A Milk Bath.

I Decided That If I Was Never Going To Sell Anything As Long As I Lived, I Might As Well Do What I Want To Do 'cause Then At Least I Would've Done What I Wanted To Do In Life. What's That Worth?