It Was The Work Of The Quiet

I Realized These Were All The Snapshots Which Our Children Would Look At Someday With Wonder, Thinking Their Parents Had Lived Smooth, Well-ordered Lives And Got Up In The Morning To Walk Proudly On The Sidewalks Of Life, Never Dreaming The Raggedy Madness And Riot Of Our Actual Lives, Our Actual Night, The Hell Of It, The Senseless Emptiness.

I'm Going To Marry My Novels And Have Little Short Stories For Children.

Who Doesn't Feel Studious When He Doesn't Have A Girl With A Riviera Suntan?

I Mean, Why On Earth (outside Sickness And Hangovers) Aren't People Continually Drunk? I Want Ecstasy Of The Mind All The Time.

And Don't You Know That God Is Pooh Bear?