I Can't Change The Past, And I

The Cold Winds Of Insecurity... Hadn't Shredded The Dreamy Chrysalis Of His Childhood. He Was Still Immersed In The Dim, Wet Wonder Of The Folded Wings That Might Open If Someone Loved Him; He Still Hoped, Probably, In A Butterfly's Unthinking Way, For Spring And Warmth. How The Wings Ache, Folded So, Waiting; That Is, They Ache Until They Atrophy.

If You Like To Read, Sometimes It's Interesting Just To Go And See What The Reality Is, Of The Word, Of The Seedy Or Not So Seedy Fiction Writer, The Drunk Or Sober Poet... Sometimes You Can Go Looking For Illumination.

Me, My Literary Reputation Is Mostly Abroad, But I Am Anchored Here In New York. I Can't Think Of Any Other Place I'd Rather Die Than Here.

I Was Always Crazy About New York, Dependent On It, Scared Of It - Well, It Is Dangerous - But Beyond That There Was The Pressure Of Being Young And Of Not Yet Having Done Work You Really Liked, Trademark Work, Breakthrough Work

My Protagonists Are My Mother's Voice And The Mind I Had When I Was Thirteen.