I Came To New York And In

This Is What You Know About Someone You Have To Hate: He Charges You With His Crime And Castigates Himself In You.

And As He Spoke, I Was Thinking, 'the Kind Of Stories That People Turn Life Into, The Kind Of Lives People Turn Stories Into.

Never In His Life Had Occasion To Ask Himself, "why Are Things The Way They Are?" Why Should He Bother, When The Way They Were Was Always Perfect? Why Are Things The Way They Are? The Question To Which There Is No Answer, And Up Till Then He Was So Blessed He Didn't Even Know The Question Existed.

Literature Got Me Into This Mess And Literature Is Going To Have To Get Me Out Of It.

Being In The Dark From Sentence To Sentence Is What Convinces Me To Go On.