I Am Kind Of A Curmudgeonly Person,

Words Bounce. Words, If You Let Them, Will Do What They Want To Do And What They Have To Do.

We Are Only Midway Through The Central Verse Of Our Youth When We See Ourselves Begin To Blacken. ... We Had Been Seduced Into Thinking That We Were Immortal And Suddenly The Affair Is Over.

What Makes Life Life And Not A Simple Story? Jagged Bits Moving Never Still, All Along The Wall.

It Is Easier To Tell A Story Of How People Wound One Another Than Of What Binds Them Together.

The Self Forms At The Edge Of Desire, And A Science Of Self Arises In The Effort To Leave That Self Behind.