I'm Still In Love With What I

There Are A Great Many Ways To Commit Suicide You Know.

The Year She Had Run Fleetly Through The Dewy Grass Under The Moon- The Night Of Wine, When Dreams Condensed Out Of Thin Air Like The Nightmilk Of Fantasy.

Resistance To Change Is Proportional To How Much The Future Might Be Altered By Any Given Act.

So Where Do The Ideas-the Salable Ideas-come From? They Come From My Nightmares. Not The Night-time Variety, As A Rule, But The Ones That Hide Just Beyond The Doorway That Separates The Conscious From The Unconscious.

I Find I'm So Excited I Can Barely Sit Still Or Hold A Thought In My Head. I Think It Is The Excitement Only A Free Man Can Feel, A Free Man At The Start Of A Long Journey Whose Conclusion Is Uncertain. I Hope I Can Make It Across The Border. I Hope To See My Friend, And Shake His Hand. I Hope The Pacific Is As Blue As It Has Been In My Dreams. I Hope.