In My Writing, I Want To Be

After The Film It Was Raining, A Light Steady Rain. Ruthless Neon On The Wet Streets Like Busted Candy.

Through This Feeling Of Helplessness Suddenly Burst A Piercing Nostalgia For The Lost World Of Childhood. The Way It Came Right Up Against The Heart, That World, And Against The Face. No Indoors Or Outdoors, Only Everything Touching Us, And The Grown-ups Lumbering Past Overhead Like Constellations.

That World! These Days It's All Been Erased And They've Rolled It Up Like A Scroll And Put It Away Somewhere. Yes, I Can Touch It With My Fingers. But Where Is It?

The Movie's Not Over Till Everybody's Dead.

I Feel Very Privileged To Hear How Somebody Used To Run Around Stickin' People Up And Stealing Cars, And Now They're Gettin' Their Life Back Together... I Just Love The Stories. The Stories Of The Fallen World, They Excite Us. That's The Interesting Stuff.