….it Was A Brave Man’s Fear. I

I Assume As A Child Jesus Had To Learn How To Do Carpentry, Learn Torah, Learn All The Things A Human Child Had To Learn. If He Was Human In All Ways Except That He Did Not Sin, This Must Have Been The Case.

My Own Funeral, I'd Like To Be Laid Out In A Coffin In My Own House. I Would Like My Coffin To Be Put In The Double Parlor, And I Would Like All The Flowers To Be White.

But I Still Did Not Realize How Mad She Was, And How Accustomed To Dreaming; And That She Would Not Cry Out For Reality, Rather Would Feed Reality To Her Dreams, A Demon Elf Feeding Her Spinning Wheel With The Reeds Of The World So She Might Make Her Own Weblike Universe.

Don't Bend; Don't Water It Down; Don't Try To Make It Logical; Don't Edit Your Own Soul According To The Fashion. Rather, Follow Your Most Intense Obsessions Mercilessly. Only If You Do That Can You Hope To Make The Reader Feel Every Particle Of What You, The Writer, Have Known And Feel Compelled To Share."---forward To Kafka's Short Stories

That Process By Which You Become A Writer Is A Pretty Lonely One. We Don't Have A Group Apprenticeship Like A Violinist Might Training For An Orchestra.