Increasingly I Think Of Myself As Some

He's At Ease, His Body Sculpted To The Music, His Shoulder Searching The Other Shoulder, His Right Toe Knowing The Left Knee, The Height, The Depth, The Form, The Control, The Twist Of His Wrist, The Bend Of His Elbow, The Tilt Of His Neck, Notes Digging Into Arteries, And He Is In The Air Now, Forcing The Legs Up Beyond Muscular Memory, One Last Press Of The Thighs, An Elongation Of Form, A Loosening Of Human Contour, He Goes Higher And Is Skyheld.

One Look At Each Other And It Was Immediately Understood That They Both Needed A Clean Slate,,, The Obliteration Of Memory.

Literature Can Remind Us That Not All Life Is Already Written Down: There Are Still So Many Stories To Be Told.

A Lot Of People Think That Writers Are Much Cleverer Than They Actually Are. No, They're Not. But They're Emotionally Clever, And They Go Into A Character, And They Feel Something That They Weren't Entirely Aware Of Beforehand.

Sometimes Thinking Back On Things Is A Mistake Arising Out Of Pride, But I Guess You Live Inside A Moment For Years, Move With It And Feel It Grow, And It Sends Out Roots Until It Touches Everything In Sight.