The Blood Jet Is Poetry And There

I, To You, Am Lost In The Gorgeous Errors Of Flesh.

Is There No Way Out Of The Mind?

If You Love Her", I Said, "you'll Love Somebody Else Someday.

I Love People. Everybody. I Love Them, I Think, As A Stamp Collector Loves His Collection. Every Story, Every Incident, Every Bit Of Conversation Is Raw Material For Me.

I Had Imagined A Kind, Ugly, Intuitive Man Looking Up And Say, 'ah!' In An Encouraging Way, As If He Could See Something I Couldn't, And Then I Would Find Words To Tell Him How I Was So Scared, As If I Were Being Stuffed Farther And Farther Into A Black, Airless Sack With No Way Out.