If Being A Spokesman For A Generation

"socialist" Is The Nastiest Thing You Can Say About An American Politician In Some Quarters.

Your Presence Here Is Is Only A Matter Of Conducting An Experiment In Limits, Reminding Yourself Of What You Aren’t.

If It's Red, French, Costs Too Much, And Tastes Like The Water That's Left In The Vase After The Flowers Have Died And Rotted, It's Probably Burgundy.

You Keep Thinking That With Practice You Will Eventually Get The Knack Of Enjoying Superficial Encounters, That You Will Stop Looking For The Universal Solvent, Stop Grieving. You Will Learn To Compound Happiness Out Of Small Increments Of Mindless Pleasure.

You Have Friends Who Actually Care About You And Speak The Language Of The Inner Self. You Have Avoided Them Of Late. Your Soul Is As Disheveled As Your Apartment, And Until You Can Clean It Up A Little You Don't Want To Invite Anyone Inside.