I've Always Seen Myself In Sentences. I

Something Lurked Inside The Truth.

I've Never Made An Outline For Any Novel That I've Written. Never.

People Who Are Powerless Make An Open Theater Of Violence.

How Strange It Is. We Have These Deep Terrible Lingering Fears About Ourselves And The People We Love. Yet We Walk Around, Talk To People, Eat And Drink. We Manage To Function. The Feelings Are Deep And Real. Shouldn't They Paralyze Us? How Is It We Can Survive Them, At Least For A Little While? We Drive A Car, We Teach A Class. How Is It No One Sees How Deeply Afraid We Were, Last Night, This Morning? Is It Something We All Hide From Each Other, By Mutual Consent? Or Do We Share The Same Secret Without Knowing It? Wear The Same Disguise?

I've Always Felt That My Subject Was Living In Dangerous Times.