Whatever Is Not An Energy Source, Is

Attention Is Love, What We Must Give Children, Mothers, Fathers, Pets, Our Friends, The News, The Woes Of Others. What We Want To Change We Curse And Then Pick Up A Tool. Bless Whatever You Can With Eyes And Hands And Tongue. If You Can't Bless It, Get Ready To Make It New.

It Hurts To Love Wide Open Stretching The Muscles... It Hurts To Thwart The Reflexes Of Grab, Of Clutch; To Love And Let Go Again And Again.

I Want To Be With People Who Submerge In The Task, Who Go Into The Fields To Harvest And Work In A Row And Pass The Bags Along, Who Are Not Parlor Generals And Field Deserters But Move In A Common Rhythm When The Food Must Come In Or The Fire Be Put Out. The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud. Botched, It Smears The Hands, Crumbles To Dust. But The Thing Worth Doing Well Done Has A Shape That Satisfies, Clean And Evident.

Burning Dinner Is Not Incompetence But War.

I Think That If You Use Something From You Life In Fiction, It Metamorphosizes Into Something Strange And Different. Afterward It Is Hard To Tell What Actually Was Part Of Your Life And What Is Part Of The Story Of The Fictional Character.