...water Laughing Softly Down A Black Stone

The Pause Makes You Think The Song Will End. And Then The Song Isn't Really Over, So You're Relieved. But Then The Song Does Actually End, Because Every Song Ends, Obviously, And That. Time. The. End. Is. For. Real.

Be Willing And Unafraid To Write Badly, Because Often The Bad Stuff...forms A Base On Which To Build Something Better.

Some Mornings... I Sit At The Kitchen Table Shaking Salt Into The Hairs On My Arm, And A Feeling Shoves Up In Me: It's Finished. Everything Went Past Without Me.

Sure, Everything Is Ending," Jules Said, "but Not Yet.

I Wonder What Proust Would Have Made Of Our Present-day Locus Of Collective Fantasy, The Internet. I’m Guessing He Would Have Seized On Its Wistful Aspect, Pointing Out Gently And With Wry Humor That Much Of What Beguiles Us Is The Act Of Reaching For What Isn’t There.