Comedians Are The Nearest To Suicide.

I Have Been Thinking About The Girl I Met Last Night In The Mirror: Dark On The Marble-ivory White: Glossy Black Hair: Deep Suspiring Eyes In Which One's Glances Sink Because They Are Nervous, Curious, Turned To Sexual Curiosity.

I Have Decided To Leave Clea’s Last Letter Un-answered. I No Longer Wish To Coerce Anyone, To Make Promises, To Think Of Life In Terms Of Compacts, Resolutions, Covenants. It Will Be Up To Clea To Interpret My Silence According To Her Own Needs And Desires, To Come To Me If She Has Need Or Not, As The Case May Be. Does Not Everything Depend On Our Interpretation Of The Silence Around Us?

Brazil Is Bigger Than Europe, Wilder Than Africa, And Weirder Than Baffin Land.

History Is An Endless Repetition Of The Wrong Way Of Living.

I Have Done So Many Things In My Life," She Said To The Mirror. "evil Things, Perhaps. But Never Unattentively, Never Wastefully...was I Wrong?