There Is No Delight The Equal Of

I Was A Weird Little Kid. I Was Very Irritable, Bored, Frustrated. I Felt My Imagination Bubbling Inside My Head Without Having Any Way To Express Itself. Given A Crayon And Paper, I Would Not Draw A Train Or A House. I Would Draw These Monsters, Beasts And Demons.

The World Had Seen So Many Ages: The Age Of Enlightenment; Of Reformation; Of Reason. Now, At Last, The Age Of Desire. And After This, An End To Ages; An End, Perhaps, To Everything.

Funny That. We Live In Islands Of Hours And We Never Seem To Have Time Enough For Anything.

Even Winter — The Hardest Season, The Most Implacable — Dreams, As February Creeps On, Of The Flame That Will Presently Melt It Away. Everything Tires With Time, And Starts To Seek Some Opposition, To Save It From Itself.

I'm A Poet,' The Young Man Said, 'and It's My Job To Remember The Sadness Of Things.