I Am At My Worst Trying To

Some Mornings... I Sit At The Kitchen Table Shaking Salt Into The Hairs On My Arm, And A Feeling Shoves Up In Me: It's Finished. Everything Went Past Without Me.

If I Had A View Like This To Look Down On Every Day, I Would Have The Energy And Inspiration To Conquer The World. The Trouble Is, When You Most Need Such A View, No One Gives It To You.

Kissing Mother Superior, Incompetent, Hairball, Poppy Seeds, On The Can.

Real Computers Scared Me; If You Can Find Them, Then They Can Find You.

A Bit Of Theory As We Settle Down For Lunch: The Waiter's Treatment Of Kitty Is Actually A Kind Of Sandwich, With The Bottom Bread Being The Bored And Slightly Effete Way He Normally Acts With Customers, The Middle Being The Crazed And Abnormal Way He Feels Around This Famous Nineteen-year-old Girl, And The Top Bread Being His Attempt To Contain And Conceal This Alien Middle Layer With Some Mode Of Behavior That At Least Approximates The Bottom Layer Of Boredom And Effeteness That Is His Norm.