God Is Love, I Said, But Art's

I Do Not Know If All Cops Are Poets, But I Know That All Cops Carry Guns With Triggers.

America Is Woven Of Many Strands. I Would Recognize Them And Let It So Remain.

So Why Do I Write, Torturing Myself To Put It Down? Because In Spite Of Myself I've Learned Some Things. Without The Possibility Of Action, All Knowledge Comes To One Labeled "file And Forget," And I Can Neither File Nor Forget. Nor Will Certain Ideas Forget Me; They Keep Filing Away At My Lethargy, My Complacency. Why Should I Be The One To Dream This Nightmare?

I Am An Invisible Man. I Am A Man Of Substance, Of Flesh And Bone, Fiber And Liquids - And I Might Even Be Said To Possess A Mind. I Am Invisible, Understand, Simply Because People Refuse To See Me.

The Act Of Writing Requires A Constant Plunging Back Into The Shadow Of The Past Where Time Hovers Ghostlike.