Life Was A Storm To Wander Through.

Basically When I'm Walking I'm Not Consciously Writing Or Intending Anything. In The Manner I Have Learned From Meditation Practice, I Let Things Unfold.

Dreaming Men Are Haunted Men.

And Thames And All The Rivers Of The Kings Ran Into Mississippi And Were Drowned. They Planted England With A Stubborn Trust But The Cleft Dust Was Never English Dust.

I Don't Think I Have Ever Really Gotten Leopold Bloom's Interior Ramblings Out Of My Head! I Am Sure That Voice Continues To Inspire The Walking Consciousness In My Work - That Is, The Way I Carry On An Interior Monologue As I Walk Through This City.

Our Fathers And Ourselves Sowed Dragon's Teeth. Our Children Know And Suffer The Armed Men.