Any Woman Who Counts On Her Face

Rarely Does One See A Squirrel Tremble.

Can't A Rapper Insist, Like Other Artists, On A Fictional Reality, In Which He Is Somehow Still On The Corner, Despite Occupying The Penthouse Suite?

This, After All, Was The Month In Which Families Began Tightening And Closing And Sealing; From Thanksgiving To The New Year, Everybody's World Contracted, Day By Day, Into The Microcosmic Single Festive Household, Each With Its Own Rituals And Obsessions, Rules And Dreams. You Didn't Feel You Could Call People. They Didn't Feel They Could Phone You. How Does One Cry For Help From These Seasonal Prisons?

Most Of The Cruelty In The World Is Just Misplaced Energy.

As Far As I'm Concerned, If You Want To Find Out About The Last Day Of Wwii Or The Roots Of The Indian Mutiny, Get Thee To A Books Catalogue.