I Like Poking My Nose Into Other

The Rain Began Again. It Fell Heavily, Easily, With No Meaning Or Intention But The Fulfilment Of Its Own Nature, Which Was To Fall And Fall.

But I Can't Bear It When Somebody Who Some Man Made A Pass At - To Call That Violence Seems To Me Absurd And Insulting To Women Who've Really Met Violence, Who've Been Raped Or Bashed.

I Suppose There Must Be Idiots Who Dream Of Signing Deals With Publishers While Fully Intending To Drink Martinis In Cool Bars Or Ride Around On Skateboards. But The Actual Writers I Know Are Experts In Neurotic Self-torture. Every Page Of Writing Is The Result Of A Thousand Tiny Decisions And Desperate Acts Of Will.

To Slide Into The Domed Reading Room At Ten Each Morning, Specially In Summer, Off The Hot Street Outside, Was A Sensation As Delicious As Dropping Into The Water Off The Concrete Edge Of The Fitzroy Baths.

It's Disturbing At My Age To Look At A Young Woman's Destructive Behaviour And Hear The Echoes Of It, Of One's Own Destructiveness In Youth.