They Are The We Of Me.

Writing, For Me, Is A Search For God.

I Live With The People I Create And It Has Always Made My Essential Loneliness Less Keen.

There Are All These People Here I Don't Know By Sight Or By Name. And We Pass Alongside Each Other And Don't Have Any Connection. And They Don't Know Me And I Don't Know Them. And Now I'm Leaving Town And There Are All These People I Will Never Know.

The People Dreamed And Fought And Slept As Much As Ever. And By Habit They Shortened Their Thoughts So That They Would Not Wander Out Into The Darkness Beyond Tomorrow.

The Curt Truth Is That, In A Deep Secret Way, The State Of Being Beloved Is Intolerable To Many. The Beloved Fears And Hates The Lover, And With The Best Of Reasons. For The Lover Is Forever Trying To Strip Bare His Beloved. The Lover Craves Any Possible Relation With The Beloved, Even If This Experience Can Cause Him Only Pain.