If I Had A View Like This

Sometimes I Imagine Myself Looking Back On Right Now And I Think Like Where Will I Be Standing When I Look Back Will Right Now Look Like The Beginning Of A Great Life Or... Or What

I Don’t Want To Fade Away, I Want To Flame Away - I Want My Death To Be An Attraction, A Spectacle, A Mystery. A Work Of Art.

Now That Scotty Has Entered The Realm Of Myth, Everyone Wants To Own Him. And Maybe They Should. Doesn't A Myth Belong To Everyone?

I Felt No Shame In These Activities, Because I Understood What Almost No One Else Seemed To Grasp: That There Was Only An Infinitesimal Difference, A Difference So Small That It Barely Existed Except As A Figment Of The Human Imagination, Between Working In A Tall Green Glass Building On Park Avenue And Collecting Litter In A Park. In Fact, There May Have Been No Difference At All.

I Write My First Draft By Hand, At Least For Fiction. For Non-fiction, I Write Happily On A Computer, But For Fiction I Write By Hand, Because I'm Trying To Achieve A Kind Of Thoughtless State, Or An Unconscious Instinctive State. I'm Not Reading What I Write When I Wrote. It's An Unconscious Outpouring That's A Mess, And It's Many, Many Steps Away From Anything Anyone Would Want To Read. Creating That Way Seems To Generate The Most Interesting Material For Me To Work With, Though.