Blot Out The Moon, Pull Down The

They Say When Trouble Comes Close Ranks, And So The White People Did.

I Am The Only Real Truth I Know.

Soon He'll Come In Again And Kiss Me, But Differently. He'll Be Different And So I'll Be Different. It'll Be Different. I Thought, 'it'll Be Different, Different. It Must Be Different.

All Of Writing Is A Huge Lake. There Are Great Rivers That Feed The Lake, Like Tolstoy Or Dostoyevsky. And Then There Are Mere Trickles, Like Jean Rhys. All That Matters Is Feeding The Lake. I Don't Matter. The Lake Matters. You Must Keep Feeding The Lake.

I Am Empty Of Everything. I Am Empty Of Everything But The Thin, Frail Ghosts In My Room.