What Is, Is, And What Might Have

A Small And Sinister Snow Seems To Be Coming Down Relentlessly At Present. The Radio Says It Is Eventually Going To Be Sleet And Rain, But I Don't Think So; I Think It Is Just Going To Go On And On, Coming Down, Until The Whole World...etc. It Has That Look.

Books, Cats, Life Is Good.

The Suicide, As She Is Falling, Illuminated By The Moon, Regrets Her Act, And Finds Appalling The Thought She Will Be Dead So Soon.

I Feel That I Am Doing The Minimum Amount Of Damage To Other Possibilities That May Take Place In A Reader's Head.

If I Do Not Seem To Be Mentioning Anything I’ve Read Lately, It Is Because I Am In One Of Those Periods Of Undifferentiated Flux Or Something In Which I Am Reading About Fifty, At A Minimum, Books At Once, So Of Course I Seldom Finish One. Eventually This Phase Will Pass, And I’ll Discover I Have About Ten Pages To Go In All Of Them, And Will Sit Down And Systematically Finish Them, One After Another.