I Would Not Change [my Past Work]

I'm Not Senile," I Snapped. "if I Burn The House Down It Will Be On Purpose.

She Had Her Reasons. Not That They Were The Same As Anybody Else's Reasons.

I Have A Big Following Among The Biogeeks Of This World. Nobody Ever Puts Them In Books.

I'll Make You Mine, Lovers Said In Old Books. They Never Said, I'll Make You Me.

Why Is It We Want So Badly To Memorialize Ourselves? Even While We're Still Alive. We Wish To Assert Our Existence, Like Dogs Peeing On Fire Hydrants. We Put On Display Our Framed Photographs, Our Parchment Diplomas, Our Silver-plated Cups; We Monogram Our Linen, We Carve Our Names On Trees, We Scrawl Them On Washroom Walls. It's All The Same Impulse. What Do We Hope From It? Applause, Envy, Respect? Or Simply Attention, Of Any Kind We Can Get? At The Very Least We Want A Witness. We Can't Stand The Idea Of Our Own Voices Falling Silent Finally, Like A Radio Running Down.