I Live In Constant Fear Of Being

Dear Anyone Who Finds This, Do Not Blame The Drugs.

What Year Is It In Your Imagination?

You'll Never Call Him Fifi Again.

I've Gotten A Lot Of Livid Letters About The Awfulness Of My Work. I've Never Known What To Make Of It. Why Do People Bother To Write If They Hate What I Do?

But Paper And Ink Have Conjuring Abilities Of Their Own. Arrangements Of Lines And Shapes, Of Letters And Words On A Series Of Pages Make A World We Can Dwell And Travel In.