I Write About Reconciliation, But Not As

… That Sour Blend Of Loneliness And Lust For Recognition, Shyness And Extravagance, Deep Insecurity And Self-intoxicated Egomania, That Drives Poets And Writers Out Of Their Rooms To Seek Each Other Out, To Rub Shoulders With One Another, Bully, Joke, Condescend, Feel Each Other, Lay A Hand On A Shoulder Or An Arm Round A Waist, To Chat And Argue With Little Nudges, To Spy A Little, Sniff Out What Is Cooking In Other Pots, Flatter, Disagree, Collude, Be Right, Take Offence, Apologise, Make Amends, Avoid Each Other, And Seek Each Other’s Company Again.

Literature Exists Inside The Language. It's Made Of Words.

If You Change Your Diet, Someone Will Call You A Traitor.

The Moment You Carry Out Any Of Your Dreams Or Your Fantasies - Travel Around The World, Climbing A High Mountain, Buying A New House, Writing A Novel, Carrying Out A Sexual Fantasy, Traveling To An Unknown Country - The Moment You Carry Out Your Dreams, It's Always, By Definition Less Perfect And Rosy Than It Had Been As A Dream. This Is The Nature Of Dreams.

The Reconciliation Is Not Based On The Fact That One Of The Characters Opens His Eyes And Says, "o Brother! O Sister! How Terrible I Was! How Right And Wonderful You Were! Please Forgive Me! Let's Hug And Love Each Other From Now Until The Rest Of Eternity!" This Is Not The Kind Of Reconciliation I Write About; I Write About Sad, Sober, Sometimes Heart-breaking Compromises.