It Takes A Year, Nephew... A Full

Anyway, There's Something Wrong With Everybody And It's Up To You To Know What You Can Handle.

Everybody That Went Away Suffered A Broken Heart. "i'm Coming Back Some Day," They All Wrote. But Never Did. The Old Life Was Too Small To Fit Anymore.

I Rarely Use The Internet For Research, As I Find The Process Cumbersome And Detestable. The Information Gained Is Often Untrustworthy And Couched In Execrable Prose. It Is Unpleasant To Sit In Front Of A Twitching Screen Suffering Assault By Virus, Power Outage, Sluggish Searches, System Crashes And The Lack Of Direct Human Discourse.

What I Find To Be Very Bad Advice Is The Snappy Little Sentence, 'write What You Know.' It Is The Most Tiresome And Stupid Advice That Could Possibly Be Given. If We Write Simply About What We Know We Never Grow. We Don't Develop Any Facility For Languages, Or An Interest In Others, Or A Desire To Travel And Explore And Face Experience Head-on. We Just Coil Tighter And Tighter Into Our Boring Little Selves. What One Should Write About Is What Interests One.

Change Itself Is What Fascinates Me. I Am Drawn, As A Moth To The Flame, By Edge Situations, By Situations Of Metamorphosis.