My Guys Are Morally Weak, And They

I Love Thinking About American History, Thinking About La History. I Love Brooding On Crime.

She Quoted A Dead Playwright And Called Me A Bullet With Nothing But A Future. She Understood My Lack Of Self-pity. She Knew Why I Despised Everything That Might Restrict My Forward Momentum. She Knew That Bullets Have No Conscience. They Speed Past Things And Miss Their Marks As Often As They Hit Them.

Rock And Rollers Can Get You The Youth Buzz, And Younger People Are Fanatical Readers.

In The Time Just Before The Bombing Of Pearl Harbor, When Perfidia Opens, We Were Pre-psychologized. There Were No Concepts Of Identity, No Politics Of Victimization. Reparation Wasn't In The Language. Nobody Thought About Giving The Great Grandchildren Of Black Slaves So Much As $1.98. And All Of A Sudden The Bombs Hit, Interventionism Versus Isolationism Became A Dead Issue, And It Was Us-versus-them In A Heartbeat.

I Cleaned Up. I Quit Drinking, I Quit Doing Drugs, I Quit Stealing, I Quit Breaking Into Houses, I Tried To Quit Being A Bad Human Being. I Developed A Conscience Later In Life Than Many. I Call It The Lost-time-regained Dynamic.