I Like Films, Or Some Films, And

Flat Or Round, There Has Always Been Hate In The World.

Are Not All Loves Secretly The Same? A Hundred Flowers Sprung From A Single Root.

She Looked, And A Scarlet Butterfly Flew Away From Her, Away Down The Length Of The Tower, And Then Another, Another, An Unraveling Scarf Of Butterflies Like Winged Blood.

I Submitted Manuscripts To Publishers. This Was Not So Much A Feeling That I Should Be Published As A Wish To Escape The Feared And Hated Drudgery Of Normal Work.

Genre Categories Are Irrelevant. I Dislike Them, But I Do Not Have The Casting Vote.