With A Sudden Sharp Hot Stink Of

In The Pit Of Red You Hid From The Bone-clinic Whiteness But The Jewel You Lost Was Blue.

You Solve It As You Get Older, When You Reach The Point Where You've Tasted So Much That You Can Somehow Sacrifice Certain Things More Easily, And You Have A More Tolerant View Of Things Like Possessiveness (your Own) And A Broader Acceptance Of The Pains And The Losses.

The Progress Of Any Writer Is Marked By Those Moments When He Manages To Outwit His Own Inner Police System.

It Took The Whole Of Creation To Produce My Foot, My Each Feather: Now I Hold Creation In My Foot. Or Fly Up, And Revolve It All Slowly - I Kill Where I Please Because It Is All Mine. There Is No Sophistry In My Body: My Manners Are Tearing Off Heads - The Allotment Of Death.

So We Found The End Of Our Journey. So We Stood, Alive In The River Of Light, Among The Creatures Of Light, Creatures Of Light.