I Knew A Book Of Mine Was

All Good Writing Is Built One Good Line At A Time. You Build A Novel The Same Way You Do A Pyramid. One Word, One Stone At A Time, Underneath A Full Moon While The Fingers Bleed.

They Will Say I Smoked Cigarettes And Marijuana, Cursed Hoarse As A Crow In All My Languages, And Loved Morphine And Demerol And Tequila And Pulque, Women And Men. I Will Shrug My Illusion Of Shoulders And Answer That I Am A Water Woman, Not A Vessel, Not Something You Can Sail Or Charter. I Am Instead The Tributary, The River, The Fluid Source, And The Sea Itself. I Am All Her Rainy Implications. And What Do You, With Your Rusted Compass, Know Of Love?

If You Can Be Anything Else But A Writer, Be It.

I Knew A Book Of Mine Was Finished When I Was In Intensive Care.

The Peruvian Flute Music Is . . . Cool. In This Music, They Have Not Yet Invented The Industrial Revolution That Leads To Excessive Punctuality Or The Failed Experiment They Call The Nuclear Family. This Is The Music Of Elements, Untarnished, Unrehearsed.