I've Accrued A Kind Of Patience, I

That Is What Is Wrong With Cold People. Not That They Have Ice In Their Souls - We All Have A Bit Of That - But That They Insist Every Word And Deed Mirror That Ice. They Never Learn The Beauty Or Value Of Gesture. The Emotional Necessity. For Them, It Is All Honesty Before Kindness, Truth Before Art. Love Is Art, Not Truth. It's Like Painting Scenery.

You Are Unhappy Because You Believe In Such A Thing As Happy.

Your Numbness Is Something Perhaps You Cannot Help. It Is What The World Has Done To You. But Your Coldness. That Is What You Do To The World.

The Compulsion To Read And Write - And It Seems To Me It Should Be, Even Must Be, A Compulsion - Is A Bit Of Mental Wiring The Species Has Selected, Over Time, In Order, As The Life Span Increases, To Keep Us Interested In Ourselves.

Everything One Reads Is Nourishment Of Some Sort - Good Food Or Junk Food - And One Assumes It All Goes In And Has Its Way With Your Brain Cells.