If You Want To Do Things, Do

I'm Really Sorry For People Growing Up Right Now, Because They Have Some Cockeyed Idea That They Can Get By With Their Eyes Closed; The Cane They're Tapping Is Money, And That Won't Take Them In The Right Direction.

My Family Were Russian Jews. They Got You To Read As Soon As You Could. And Then Assumed You Would Read A Lot. People Didn't Really Tell Stories But They Were Good Talkers. That's Important For A Writer, To Hear Speakers.

Here I Am In The Garden Laughing An Old Woman With Heavy Breasts And A Nicely Mapped Face How Did This Happen Well That's Who I Wanted To Be At Last A Woman In The Old Style Sitting Stout Thighs Apart Under A Big Skirt Grandchild Sliding On Off My Lap A Pleasant Summer Perspiration That's My Old Man Across The Yard He's Talking To The Meter Reader He's Telling Him The World's Sad Story How Electricity Is Oil Or Uranium And So Forth I Tell My Grandson Run Over To Your Grandpa Ask Him To Sit Beside Me For A Minute I Am Suddenly Exhausted By My Desire To Kiss His Sweet Explaining Lips.

I Didn't Intend. The Word "intend" Is The Wrong Word For What I Do. It's Just That It's Something You Do, And You Can't Not Do. If You Want To Do It, And You Don't Intend To, You Do It Anyway. The Word "intend" Is Wrong. The Word "pressure" Is Right. It's Like Any Art Form.

Art's Too Long And Life's Too Short.