The Bird Is Gone, And In What

One Thing I've Found That I Can Do That I Really Enjoy Is Rereading My Own Writing, Earlier Stories And Novels Especially. It Induces Mental Time Travel, The Same Way Certain Songs You Hear On The Radio Do ... The Whole Thing Returns, An Eerie Feeling That I'm Sure You've Experienced.

I Am A Reader. I Am A Writer. People Assume I Do These Things To Escape. You Couldn't Be More Right. I'm Escaping A World I Don't Like. A World I Have No Control In. In This World, I Am Nothing. I Am A Color, A Height, A Weight, A Number. But In The World Of Books And Writing, I Am Amazing. I Am Powerful. I Am Different. People Are Better. Worlds Are Endless. Change Is Possible. Life Is Manageable.

I Must Admit That The Existence Of Disneyland (which I Know Is Real) Proves That We Are Not Living In Judaea In 50 Ad. . . . Saint Paul Would Never Go Near Disneyland. Only Children, Tourists, And Visiting Soviet High Officials Ever Go To Disneyland. Saints Do Not.

Sometimes One Must Try Anything, It Is No Disgrace. On The Contrary, It Is A Sign Of Wisdom.

Either I've Invented A Whole New Logic Or, Ahem, I'm Not Playing With A Full Deck.