Lies Like That Are Not A Sin,

Depression Is Anger Slowed Down; Panic Is Grief Speeded Up.

Afterwards, In Bed With A Book, The Spell Of Television Feels Remote Compared To The Journey Into The Page. To Be In A Book. To Slip Into The Crease Where Two Pages Meet, To Live In The Place Where Your Eyes Alight Upon The Words To Ignite A World Of Smoke And Peril, Colour And Serene Delight. That Is A Journey No One Can End With The Change Of A Channel. Enduring Magic.

Do You Think There's Such A Thing As A Ghost Who Masquerades As A Person? Do You Believe That There Are People Whose Bodies Are Still Alive Here On Earth But Whose Souls Are Already In Hell?

Tell The Story, Gather The Events, Repeat Them. Pattern Is A Matter Of Upkeep. Otherwise The Weave Relaxes Back To Threads Picked Up By Birds To Make Their Nests. Repeat, Or The Story Will Fall And All The King's Horses And All The King's Men. . . . Repeat, And Cradle The Pieces Carefully, Or Events Will Scatter Like Marbles On A Wooden Floor.

In Terms Of The Secrets That Imbue And Underlie Fall On Your Knees, They Were As Much Of A Mystery To Me As I Was Creating The Story As They Are To The Readers.