Stay. Fight. Live. Take It. Cry. Cry.

On The Other Couch A Women Sits With A Young Boy Looking Through A Picture Book About Babar The Elephant. When I Find A Magazine And I Lean Back To Start Reading It, I Can See The Women Watching Me Out Of The Corner Of Her Eye. She Moves Closer To The Child And She Leans Over And Kisses His Forehead. I Know Why She Does It And I Don't Blame Her.

Dreams Can Come True There [los Angeles]in Ways Impossible Anywhere Else, And They Can Get Destroyed As Well.

To Write A Damn Good Thriller, You Need A Killer Attitude.

I'm Just Going To Write My Books And Do My Work And Release It. Let The World Decide What It Is, And If It's Any Good Or Not.

There Are No Words And There Is No Singing, But The Music Has A Voice. It Is An Old Voice And A Deep Voice, Like The Stump Of A Sweet Cigar Or A Shoe With A Hole. It Is A Voice That Has Lived And Lives, With Sorrow And Shame, Ecstasy And Bliss, Joy And Pain, Redemption And Damnation. It Is A Voice With Love And Without Love. I Like The Voice, And Though I Can't Talk To It, I Like The Way It Talks To Me. It Says It Is All The Same, Young Man. Take It And Let It Be.