I Talk In A Daze, I Walk

I Have Rewritten — Often Several Times — Every Word I Have Ever Published. My Pencils Outlast Their Erasers.

All My Stories Are Webs Of Style And None Seems At First Blush To Contain Much Kinetic Matter.

A Person Hoping To Become A Poet Must Have The Capacity Of Thinking Of Several Things At A Time.

But As Van Casually Directed The Searchlight Of Backthought Into That Maze Of The Past Where The Mirror-lined Narrow Paths Not Only Took Different Turns, But Used Different Levels (as A Mule-drawn Cart Passes Under The Arch Of A Viaduct Along Which A Motor Skims By), He Found Himself Tackling, In Still Vague And Idle Fashion, The Science That Was To Obsess His Mature Years - Problems Of Space And Time, Space Versus Time, Time-twisted Space, Space As Time, Time As Space - And Space Breaking Away From Time, In The Final Tragic Triumph Of Human Cogitation: I Am Because I Die.

My Heart Was A Hysterical Unreliable Organ.