A Book Begins As A Private Excitement

Writing Is Immensely Difficult. The Short Forms Especially.

My Memories Pale As I Prevail Upon Them Again And Again. They Become More And More Ghostly. I Fear Nothing So Much As Losing Them Altogether And Having Only My Blank Endless Mind To Live In.

Communists Have No Respect For People, Only For Positions.

There Is Music In Words, And It Can Be Heard You Know, By Thinking.

Images Break With A Small Ping, Their Destruction Is As Wonderful As Their Being, They Are Essentially Instruments Of Torture Exploding Through The Individual's Calloused Capacity To Feel Undifferentiated Emotions Full Of Longing And Dissatisfaction And Monumentality.