I'm Into, Oh Murders And Executions Mostly.

What Does That Mean Know Me, Know Me, Nobody Ever Knows Anybody Else, Ever! You Will Never Know Me.

I Do Tend To Look At My Books In Many Ways As Conceptual Fiction, Even To The Point Where I Think The Author's Photograph Is Part Of The Package. And I Have Gone Out Of My Way To Select The Photograph To Connect To The Subject Matter Of Each Book.

At Columbus Circle, A Juggler Wearing A Trench Cloak And Top Hat, Who Is Usually At This Location Afternoons And Who Calls Himself Stretch Man, Performs In Front Of A Small, Uninterested Crowd; Though I Smell Prey, And He Seems Worthy Of My Wrath, I Move On In Search Of A Less Dorky Target. Though If He'd Been A Mime, Odds Are He'd Already Be Dead.

... Her Taste In Music Haunted My Memory And I Had To Stop At Tower Records On The Upper West Side To Buy Ninety Dollars' Worth Of Rap Cds But, As Expected, I'm At A Loss: [...] Voices Uttering Ugly Words Like Digit, Pudding, Chunk.

My Pain Is Constant And Sharp, And I Do Not Hope For A Better World For Anyone.