When I'm Writing, I Never Write More

[t]he Army Of Wrongness Rampant In The World Might As Well March Over Me.

Of Many Magics, One Is Watching A Beloved Sleep: Free Of Eyes And Awareness, You For A Sweet Moment Hold The Heart Of Him; Helpless, He Is Then All, And However Irrationally, You Have Trusted Him To Be, Man-pure, Child-tender.

...of All Things This Was The Saddest, That Life Goes On: If One Leaves One's Lover, Life Should Stop For Him, And If One Disappears From The World, Then The World Should Stop, Too: And It Never Did. And That Was The Real Reason For Most People Getting Up In The Morning: Not Because It Would Matter But Because It Wouldn't.

Sicily Is More Beautiful Than Any Woman.

In California Everyone Goes To A Therapist, Is A Therapist, Or Is A Therapist Going To A Therapist.