And How Does God Speak To You?"

We Launch Our Souls From The Cannons Of Art And Discipline, And On Any One Night, Hovering Over The Chimney Tops Of Europe, Halfway To The Stars, There Are Armies Of Brightly Spinning Spirits That Have Risen Like Fireworks, Tethered To The Souls Of Those Men And Women Who, By Reflection, Mortification, And Devotion, Effortlessly Outdazzle Kings.

Lonely People Have Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained. When Something Strikes Them As Funny, The Intensity And Length Of Their Laughter Mirrors The Depth Of Their Loneliness, And They Are Capable Of Laughing Like Hyenas. When Something Touches Their Emotions, It Runs Through Them Like Paul Revere, Awakening Feelings That Gather Into Great Armies.

The Voodoo Priest And All His Powders Were As Nothing Compared To Espresso, Cappuccino, And Mocha, Which Are Stronger Than All The Religions Of The World Combined, And Perhaps Stronger Than The Human Soul Itself.

She Died On A Windy Gray Day In March When The Sky Was Full Of Darting Crows And The World Lay Prostrate And Defeated After Winter. Peter Lake Was At Her Side And It Ruined Him Forever. It Broke Him As He Had Not Ever Imagined He Could Have Been Broken. He Would Never Again Be Young, Or Able To Remember What It Was Like To Be Young. What He Had Once Taken To Be Pleasures Would Appear To Him In His Defeat As Hideous And Deserved Punishments For Reckless Vanity.

My Father Ran London Films. He Made Films Like 'the Red Shoes,' 'the Third Man.' And He Had Had A Long Career In The Film Business, Which Was Bifurcated With A Career In Intelligence. He Had To Deal With Gangsters, And Sometimes He Would Take Me With Him. Also, I Went To School With Their Children.