What I Have In Mind When I

We Leave A Stain, We Leave A Trail, We Leave Our Imprint. Impurity, Cruelty, Abuse, Error, Excrement, Semen - There’s No Other Way To Be Here. Nothing To Do With Disobedience. Nothing To Do With Grace Or Salvation Or Redemption. It’s In Everyone. Indwelling. Inherent. Defining. The Stain That Is There Before Its Mark.

Because That Is When You Love Somebody - When You See Them Being Game In The Face Of The Worst. Not Courageous. Not Heroic. Just Game.

Nothing Lasts And Yet Nothing Passes Either, And Nothing Passes Just Because Nothing Lasts.

I Don’t Ask Writers About Their Work Habits. I Really Don’t Care. Joyce Carol Oates Says Somewhere That When Writers Ask Each Other What Time They Start Working And When They Finish And How Much Time They Take For Lunch, They’re Actually Trying To Find Out, "is He As Crazy As I Am?" I Don’t Need That Question Answered.

A Jewish Man With Parents Alive Is A Fifteen-year-old Boy, And Will Remain A Fifteen-year-old Boy Until They Die!