Love Didn't Grow Very Well In A

Talent Renders The Whole Idea Of Rehearsal Meaningless; When You Find Something At Which You Are Talented, You Do It (whatever It Is) Until Your Fingers Bleed Or Your Eyes Are Ready To Fall Out Of Your Head. Even When No One Is Listening (or Reading Or Watching), Every Outing Is A Bravura Performance, Because You As The Creator Are Happy. Perhaps Even Ecstatic.

Grammar Is...the Pole You Grab To Get Your Thoughts Up On Their Feet And Walking.

As We Get Older, Our Fears, In Some Way, Sharpen And Become More Personal, Because We Can No Longer - Let's Say Take A Book Like "it" Or Maybe "christine," And Say These Are Make-believe Fears.

The Man In Black Fled Across The Desert, And The Gunslinger Followed.

And All That Weirdness Isn't Just Going On Outside. It's In You Too, Right Now, Growing In The Dark Like Magic Mushrooms. Call It The Thing In The Cellar. Call It The Blow Lunch Factor. Call It The Loony Tunes File. I Think Of It As My Private Dinosaur, Huge, Slimy, And Mindless, Stumbling Around In The Stinking Swamp Of My Subconscious, Never Finding A Tar Pit Big Enough To Hold It.