We Can’t Always Tell The Whole Story

With Each Step My Heart Broke For The Person I Would Never Find, The Person Who'd Love Me.

And With Each Step My Heart Broke For The Person I Would Never Find, The Person Who'd Love Me. And Then I Would Remember I Had A Wife At Home Who Loved Me, Or Later That My Wife Had Left Me And I Was Terrirfied, Or Again Later That I Had A Beautiful Alcoholic Girlfriend Who Would Make Me Happy Forever. But Every Time I Entered The Place There Were Veiled Faces Promising Everything And Then Clarifying Quickly Into The Dull, The Usual, Looking Up At Me And Making The Same Mistake.

Write The Unpublishable.. .and Then Publish It.

All His Life Robert Grainier Would Remember Vividly The Burned Valley At Sundown, The Most Dreamlike Business He’d Ever Witnessed Waking—the Brilliant Pastels Of The Last Light Overhead, Some Clouds High And White, Catching Daylight From Beyond The Valley, Others Ribbed And Gray And Pink, The Lowest Of Them Rubbing The Peaks Of Bussard And Queen Mountains; And Beneath This Wondrous Sky The Black Valley, Utterly Still, The Train Moving Through It Making A Great Noise But Unable To Wake This Dead World.

Through This Feeling Of Helplessness Suddenly Burst A Piercing Nostalgia For The Lost World Of Childhood. The Way It Came Right Up Against The Heart, That World, And Against The Face. No Indoors Or Outdoors, Only Everything Touching Us, And The Grown-ups Lumbering Past Overhead Like Constellations.