I Think I Want To Be In

Do Not Think I Do Not Realise What I Am Doing. I Am Making A Composition Using The Following Elements: The Winter Beach; The Winter Moon; The Ocean; The Women; The Pine Trees; The Riders; The Driftwood; The Shells; The Shapes Of Darkness And The Shapes Of Water; And The Refuse. These Are All Inimical To My Loneliness Because Of Their Indifference To It. Out Of These Pieces Of Inimical Indifference, I Intend To Represent The Desolate Smile Of Winter Which, As You Must Have Gathered, Is The Smile I Wear.

I Should Have Liked To Have Had Him Beside Me In A Glass Coffin, So That I Could Watch Him All The Time And He Would Not Have Been Able To Get Away From Me.

I Think The Adjective Post-modernist Really Means Mannerist. Books About Books Is Fun But Frivolous.

I Will Tell You What Jeanne Was Like. She Was Like A Piano In A Country Where Everyone Has Had Their Hands Cut Off.

The End Of All Stories, Even If The Writer Forebears To Mention It, Is Death, Which Is Where Time Stops Short. Sheherezade Knew This, Which Is Why She Kept On Spinning Another Story Out Of The Bowels Of The Last One, Never Coming To A Point Where She Could Say: "this Is The End." Because It Would Have Been.