The Other Day I Was Playing Scrabble.

I Have Written Letters That Are Failures, But I Have Written Few, I Think, That Are Lies. Trying To Reach A Person Means Asking The Same Question Over And Over Again: Is This The Truth, Or Not? I Begin This Letter To You, Then, In The Western Tradition. If I Understand It, The Western Tradition Is: Put Your Cards On The Table.

Look At Me. My Concerns-are They Spiritual, Do You Think, Or Carnal? Come On. We've Read Our Shakespeare.

I Would Like To Go For A Ride With You, Have You Take Me To Stand Before A River In The Dark Where Hundreds Of Lightning Bugs Blink This Code In Sequence: Right Here, Nowhere Else! Right Now, Never Again!

As Soon As I Knew That I Would Be All Right, I Was Sure That I Was Dead And Didn't Know It. I Moved Through The Days Like A Severed Head That Finishes A Sentence. I Waited For The Moment That Would Snap Me Out Of My Seeming Life.

I'm Not Good At Small Talk; I'm Not Good At Big Talk; And Medium Talk Just Doesn't Come Up.