And Now Such A Warm Commotion, Such

Lovers. Not A Soft Word, As People Thought, But Cruel And Tearing.

You Cannot Let Your Parents Anywhere Near Your Real Humiliations.

Sometimes Our Connection Is Frayed, It Is In Danger, It Seems Almost Lost. Views And Streets Deny Knowledge Of Us, The Air Grows Thin. Wouldn't We Rather Have A Destiny To Submit To, Than, Something That Claims Us, Anything, Instead Of Such Flimsy Choices, Arbitrary Days?

Sometimes I Get The Start Of A Story From A Memory, An Anecdote, But That Gets Lost And Is Usually Unrecognizable In The Final Story.

One Stroke Of Lightning Does Not Have To Lead Anywhere, But To The Next Stroke Of Lightning.