I Loved Words. I Love To Sing

Be Kind. Always If You Have A Choice, Be Kind.

Don't Bend; Don't Water It Down; Don't Try To Make It Logical; Don't Edit Your Own Soul According To The Fashion. Rather, Follow Your Most Intense Obsessions Mercilessly. Only If You Do That Can You Hope To Make The Reader Feel Every Particle Of What You, The Writer, Have Known And Feel Compelled To Share."---forward To Kafka's Short Stories

How Can So Much Beauty Hide Such A Bruised And Steely Heart, And Why Must I Love Him, Why Must I Lean In My Weariness Upon His Irresistible Yet Indomitable Strength? Is He Not The Wizend Funeral Spirit Of A Dead Man In A Child's Clothes?

I No Longer Represent Any Organized Religion. I'm Not Catholic. I'm Not Christian. I'm Saying This Because I Have To Be An Outsider For Christ.

In These Last Few Days, We Were Close Because We Were Both Mortal Men. We Saw The Same Sun And The Same Twilight, We Felt The Same Pull Of The Earth Beneath Our Feet. We Drank Together And Broke Bread Together. We Might Have Made Love Together, If You Had Only Allowed Such A Thing. But That’s All Changed. You Have Your Youth, Yes, And All The Dizzying Wonder That Accompanies The Miracle. But I Still See Death When I Look At You. I Know Now I Cannot Be Your Companion, And You Cannot Be Mine