I Don't Get Nearly Enough Credit In

The Facts Of His Existence Are Plain. I Know That He Will Never Silence Those Unspeakable Voices. He Heard How People Killed, And How They Died And Their Voices Infected Him, Coursed Through His Body, Poisoned Him. He Didn't Know How To Turn Off The Noise, Or Turn The Hate Back Out Onto The World Like The Rest Of Us. He Turned It On Himself. You Could See That From The Scars On Him.

Now Let's Try To Understand That Falling Into Sexual And Emotional Thrall With An Underage Blood Relative Hadn't Exactly Been On My List Of Things To Do While Visiting England,but I Was Coming Around To The Belief That Whether You Liked It Or Not, Things Happen And Once They Start Happening You Pretty Much Just Have To Hold On For Dear Life And See Where They Drop You When They Stop.

If There Was Ever A More Perfect Day In The History Of Time It Isn't One I've Heard About.

And After Awhile Of This My Brain And My Body And Every Single Inch Of Me That Was Alive Was Flooded With The Feeling That I Was Starving, Starving For Edmond. And What A Coincidence, That Was The Feeling I Loved Best In The World.

I'm A Century Old, An Impossible Age, And My Brain Has No Anchor In The Present. Instead It Drifts, Nearly Always To The Same Shore. Today, As Most Days, It Is 1962. The Year I Discovered Love.