To Trap One's Self-suffering Is To Risk

Everyone's Opinions About Things Change Over Time. Nothing Is Constant. Everything Changes. And To Hold Onto Some Dogged Idea Forever Is A Little Rigid And Maybe Naive.

Take A Lover Who Looks At You Like Maybe You Are A Bourbon Biscuit.

I Want A Storm To Come And Flood Us Into A Song That No One Wrote.

I Am My Own Muse. I Am The Subject I Know Best. The Subject I Want To Better.

I Wish I Could Do Whatever I Liked Behind The Curtain Of “madness”. Then: I’d Arrange Flowers, All Day Long, I’d Paint; Pain, Love And Tenderness, I Would Laugh As Much As I Feel Like At The Stupidity Of Others, And They Would All Say: “poor Thing, She’s Crazy!” (above All I Would Laugh At My Own Stupidity.) I Would Build My World Which While I Lived, Would Be In Agreement With All The Worlds. The Day, Or The Hour, Or The Minute That I Lived Would Be Mine And Everyone Else’s - My Madness Would Not Be An Escape From “reality”.