Memory Fades, Memory Adjusts, Memory Conforms To

We All Have The Same Dreams.

The Minute You Start Putting Words On Paper You're Eliminating Possibilities.

I Was In Love With New York. I Do Not Mean 'love' In Any Colloquial Way, I Mean That I Was In Love With The City, The Way You Love The First Person Who Ever Touches You And Never Love Anyone Quite That Way Again.

One Thing In My Defense, Not That It Matters: I Know Something Carter Never Knew, Or Helene, Or Maybe You. I Know What "nothing" Means, And Keep On Playing.

Somehow Writing Has Always Seemed To Me To Have An Element Of Performance.