God Forgives Us. ... Who Am I

Writing, Real Writing, Should Leave A Small Sweet Bruise Somewhere On The Writer . . . And On The Reader.

Without Art We Live Under The Illusion That There Is Only Time, And Not Eternity.

If You've Lost Focus, Just Sit Down And Be Still. Take The Idea And Rock It To And Fro. Keep Some Of It And Throw Some Away, And It Will Renew Itself. You Need Do No More.

Like All Other Lonely Or Hungry Things, Ego Loves The Light. It Sees Light, And The Possibility Of Being Close To The Soul, And It Creeps Up To It And Steals One Of Its Essential Camouflages. In A Hunger For Soul, Our Own Ego-self Steals The Pelt

I Am Built Close To The Ground And Of Extravagant Body.