Everything Is Always A Story, But The

From The First Place Of Liquid Darkness, Within The Second Place Of Air And Light, I Set Down The Following Record With Its Mixture Of Fact And Truths And Memories Of Truths And Its Direction Toward The Third Place, Where The Starting Point Is Myth.

Writing An Autobiography, Usually Thought Of As A Looking Back, Can Just As Well Be A Looking Across Or Through, With The Passing Of Time Giving An X-ray Quality To The Eye.

[...] A Morass Of Despair Violence Death With A Thin Layer Of Glass Spread Upon The Surface Where Love, A Tiny Crab With Pincers And Rainbow Shell, Walked Delicately Ever Sideways But Getting Nowhere, While The Sun [...] Rose Higher In The Sky Its Tassels Dropping With Flame Threatening Every Moment To Melt The Precarious Highway Of Glass. And The People: Giant Pathworks Of Colour With Limbs Missing And Parts Of Their Mind Snipped Off To Fit Them Into The Outline Of The Free Pattern.

...there Must Be An Inviolate Place Where The Choices And Decisions, However Imperfect, Are The Writer's Own, Where The Decision Must Be As Individual And Solitary As Birth Or Death.

It Would Be Nice To Travel If You Knew Where You Were Going And Where You Would Live At The End Or Do We Ever Know, Do We Ever Live Where We Live, We're Always In Other Places, Lost, Like Sheep.