A Book Of Great Beauty And Manically

The Night Before I Left Las Vegas I Walked Out In The Desert To Look At The Moon. There Was A Jeweled City On The Horizon, Spires Rising In The Night, But The Jewels Were Diadems Of Electric And The Spires Were The Neon Of Signs Ten Stories High.

There Is One Expanding Horror In American Life. It Is That Our Long Odyssey Toward Liberty, Democracy And Freedom-for-all May Be Achieved In Such A Way That Utopia Remains Forever Closed, And We Live In Freedom And Hell, Debased Of Style, Not Individual From One Another, Void Of Courage, Our Fear Rationalized Away.

Since Great Writers Communicate A Vision Of Existence, One Can't Borrow Their Methods. The Method Is Married To The Vision.

I Take It For Granted That There's A Side Of Me That Loves Public Action, And There's Another Side Of Me That Really Wants To Be Alone And Work And Write. And I've Learned To Alternate The Two As Matters Develop.

I Would Introduce Myself If It Were Not Useless. The Name I Had Last Night Will Not Be The Same As The Name I Have Tonight. For The Moment, Then, Let Me Say That I Am Thinking Of Sam Slovoda.