I Am Not Sure How Much I

I've Gotten A Lot Of Livid Letters About The Awfulness Of My Work. I've Never Known What To Make Of It. Why Do People Bother To Write If They Hate What I Do?

You'll Never Call Him Fifi Again.

You Keep Seeing Your Picture On Posters That You Are Missing But You're Not. That'd Be Weird, Right? Or Say You Look Down At The Sidewalk And Earthworms Are Spelling Your Name. Or You Open A Peanut Bag And The 'hello' Is Written In Your Writing On The Inside Of The Shell. Would That Weird Ya?

The Thing I Call ‘my Mind’ Seems To Be Kind Of Like A Landlord That Doesn’t Really Know Its Tenants.

I Used To Live A Very Social Life And Never Spend Much Solitary Time Looking At Birds Or Reading.