I Think I'm Far Too Hopeful And

My Voice And Movements Are Restricted By The Things I Own.

I've Always Been Interested In The Form Itself, So I Always Feel Like I've Never Been Good At Going Ahead With The Artifice And Not Acknowledging The Self In The Artistic Process, And Not Acknowledging The Absurdity Of Pretending That's Required In Fiction.

But Of Course There's No Logic To San Francisco Generally, A City Built With Putty And Pipe Cleaners, Rubber Cement And Colored Construction Paper. It's The Work Of Fairies, Elves, Happy Children With New Crayons

I Like The Dark Part Of The Night, After Midnight And Before Four-thirty, When It's Hollow, When Ceilings Are Harder And Farther Away. Then I Can Breathe, And Can Think While Others Are Sleeping, In A Way Can Stop Time, Can Have It So – This Has Always Been My Dream – So That While Everyone Else Is Frozen, I Can Work Busily About Them, Doing Whatever It Is That Needs To Be Done, Like The Elves Who Make The Shoes While Children Sleep.

He Remained, Weeks After Awakening, In That Period Of Early-morning Consciousness That Allows Easy Re-entry To Dreaming. His Limbs Still Tingled With The Residue Of Sleep, And Most Days He Wanted Badly To Allow It To Overtake Him Again.