...water Laughing Softly Down A Black Stone

I Loved Every Minute Of My Childhood - Sunbathing On The Fire Escape, Digging For Buried Treasure In The Back Yard, Pulling Alewives Out Of The Sand... Then It Was All Taken Away From Me. I Came Back Every Summer To Visit My Father Until I Was 18, But I Was Always The Outsider.

The Problem Was Precision, Perfection; The Problem Was Digitization, Which Sucked The Life Out Of Everything That Got Smeared Through Its Microscopic Mesh.

A Sense Of That Kind Of Narrative Movement That We Experience Online Could Have Been In My Mind Easily, Though Not Consciously. I Do Rely So Much On My Unconscious, The Way I Write My Stuff The Way I Do. I Let My Unconscious Work. I Have Better Ideas That Way And More Interesting Work.

I Find Myself Thinking More About The Past As I Get Older... Maybe Because There's Just More Of It To Think About. At The Same Time, I'm Less Haunted By It Than I Was As A Younger Person. I Guess That's Probably The Ideal: To Reach A Point Where You Have Access To All Of Your Memories, But You Don't Feel Victimized By Them.

He Looks Tired, Like Someone Walked On His Skin And Left Footprints.