To Write About Someone Like Myself Would

He Came To This Country Like A Torch On Fire And He Swallowed Air As He Walked Forward And He Gave Out Light

He Was A Man Who Wrote, Who Interpreted The World. Wisdom Grew Out Of Being Handed Just The Smallest Sliver Of Emotion. A Glance Could Lead To Paragraphs Of Theory.

A Writer Uses A Pen Instead Of A Scalpel Or Blow Torch.

What Night Gave Rafael Was A Formlessness In Which Everything Had A Purpose. As If Darkness Had A Hidden Musical Language.

If You Look At Japanese Film, It Is Made Up Of Collage Or Bricolage, It Is Made Up Of Lists, And Suddenly When You Stand Back From The Lists You Begin To See The Pattern Of A Life.