... The First Step Of The Terrible

What Is The Past, What Is It All For? A Mental Sandwich?

Alone With Our Madness And Favorite Flower We See That There Really Is Nothing Left To Write About. Or Rather, It Is Necessary To Write About The Same Old Things In The Same Way, Repeating The Same Things Over And Over For Love To Continue And Be Gradually Different.

I Don't Find Any Direct Statements In Life. My Poetry Imitates Or Reproduces The Way Knowledge Or Awareness Come To Me, Which Is By Fits And Starts And By Indirection. I Don't Think Poetry Arranged In Neat Patterns Would Reflect That Situation. My Poetry Is Disjunct, But Then So Is Life.

What I Like About Music Is Its Ability To Be Convincing, To Carry An Argument Through Successfully To The Finish, Though The Terms Of The Argument Remain Unknown Quantities.

And So We Turn The Page Over. To Think Of Starting. This Is All There Is.