Someone Dying Asks If There Is Life

We're Always Attracted To The Edges Of What We Are, Out By The Edges Where It's A Little Raw And Nervy.

Writing Is An Exploration. You Start From Nothing And Learn As You Go.

There Are Moments When I Cannot Bear This Unremitting Consciousness. It Knows Only Itself. Awake, I Am In A Continuum With My Dreams. I Feel My Typewriters, My Table, My Chair To Have That Assurance Of A Solid World, Where Things Take Up Space, Where Is Not The Endless Emptiness Of Insubstantial Thought That Leads To Nowhere But Itself. My Memories Pale As I Prevail Upon Them Again And Again. They Become More And More Ghostly. I Fear Nothing So Much As Losing Them Altogether And Having Only My Blank Endless Mind To Live In.

Writing Is Like Driving At Night In The Fog. You Can Only See As Far As Your Headlights, But You Can Make The Whole Trip That Way.

Writing Is A Socially Acceptable Form Of Schizophrenia.