I Am Not Really A Writer. I

...there Must Be An Inviolate Place Where The Choices And Decisions, However Imperfect, Are The Writer's Own, Where The Decision Must Be As Individual And Solitary As Birth Or Death.

I Inhabited A Territory Of Loneliness Which Resembles The Place Where The Dying Spend Their Time Before Death, And From Where Those Who Do Return, Living, To The World Bring, Inevitably, A Unique Point Of View That Is A Nightmare, A Treasure, And A Lifelong Possession.[it Is] Equal In Its Rapture And Chilling Exposure [to] The Neighbourhood Of The Ancient Gods And Goddesses.

But It Is Imperative, For Our Own Survival, That We Avoiid One Another, And What More Successful Means Of Avoidance Are There Than Words? Language Will Keep Us Safe From Human Onslaught, Will Express For Us Our Regret At Being Unable To Supply Groceries Or Love Or Peace.

It Is Always Hard To Believe That The Will To Change Something Does Not Produce An Immediate Change.

Conversation Is The Wall We Build Between Ourselves And Other People, Too Often With Tired Words Like Used And Broken Bottles Which, Catching The Sunlight As They Lie Embedded In The Wall, Are Mistaken For Jewels.