If You Want To Write About People,

She Pulls Away, Pats Me On The Shoulder With Three Mini-pats, Like Those Used To Pet Reptiles.

But That's One Lifetime." Yeah." But While Doing That One I'd Want To Be Able To Have Done Other Stuff. Whole Other Lives- The One Where I Sail-" I Know, On A Boat You Made Yourself.

But The Grind Has Begun. The Windows Don’t Open, And Even The Availability Of Near-constant Jokes About Jews And Mormons Fails To Stem The Tide Of Frustration, Decay. We’ve Reached The End Of Pure Inspiration, And Are Now Somewhere Else, Something Implying Routine, Or Doing Something Because People Expect Us To Do It, Going Somewhere Each Day Because We Went There The Day Before, Saying Things Because We Have Said Them Before, And This Seems Like The Work Of A Different Sort Of Animal, Contrary To Our Plan, And This Is Very Very Bad.

We've Become A Nation Of Indoor Cats, He'd Said. A Nation Of Doubters, Worriers, Overthinkers. Thank God These Weren't The Kind Of Americans Who Settled This Country. They Were A Different Breed! They Crossed The Country In Wagons With Wooden Wheels! People Croaked Along The Way, And They Barely Stopped. Back Then, You Buried Your Dead And Kept Moving.

I've Purposely Stayed Away From Reading Much About Postmodern Theory, And Most Everything I Have Read Just Bored Me To Tears. I Don't Think Anybody's Written About It, Or Very Few Have, With Any Verve.