My Father Wouldn't Let Me Take Typing

I Lived With The Terrible Knowledge That One Day I Would Be An Old Man Still Waiting For My Real Life To Start. Already, I Pitied That Old Man.

The Fruit Tasted Foreign But Indigenous, Like Sunlight A Tree Had Changed Through Patience.

The Safe Places Could Only Be Visited; They Could Only Grant A Momentary Intuition Of Sanctuary. The Moment Always Came When We Had To Return To Our Real Life To Face The Wounds And Grief Indigenous To Our Homr By The River.

Happiness Is An Accident Of Nature, A Beautiful And Flawless Aberration.

It's Impossible To Explain To A Yankee What `tacky' Is. They Simply Have No Word For It Up North, But My God, Do They Ever Need One.