After The Age Of 50 We Begin

Memory Weaves And Traps Us At The Same Time According To A Scheme In Which We Do Not Participate: We Should Never Speak Of Our Memory, For It Is Anything But Ours; It Works On Its Own Terms, It Assists Us While Deceiving Us Or Perhaps Deceives Up To Assist Us.

Nothing Is More Comical Than Seriousness Understood As A Virtue That Has To Precede All Important Literature

We No Longer Believe Because It Is Absurd: It Is Absurd Because We Must Believe.

Before Going Back To Sleep I Imagined (i Saw) A Plastic Universe, Changeable, Full Of Wondrous Chance, An Elastic Sky, A Sun That Suddenly Is Missing Or Remains Fixed Or Changes Its Shape.

Come Sleep With Me: We Won't Make Love,love Will Make Us.