[to] Me Organized Religion, The Formalities And

New York Is Where It Is Going To Begin, I Think. You Can See It Coming. The Insect Experts Have Learned How It Works With Locusts. Until Locust Population Reaches A Certain Density, They All Act Like Any Grasshoppers. When The Critical Point Is Reached, They Turn Savage And Swarm, And Try To Eat The World. We're Nearing A Critical Point. One Day Soon Two Strangers Will Bump Into Each Other At High Noon In The Middle Of New York. But This Time They Won't Snarl And Go On. They Will Stop And Stare And Then Leap At Each Others

...it Isn't Foolish Or Wicked To Enjoy. Wickedness Is Hurting People On Purpose. I Love What You Are And Who You Are And How You Are. You Give Me Great Joy. And You Make Horrible Coffee.

If You Would Be Thrilled By Watching The Galloping Advance Of A Major Glacier, You'd Be Ecstatic Watching Changes In Publishing.

Old Friend, There Are People—young And Old—that I Like, And People That I Do Not Like. The Former Are Always In Short Supply. I Am Turned Off By Humorless Fanaticism, Whether It's Revolutionary Mumbo-jumbo By A Young One, Or Loud Lessons From Scripture By And Old One. We Are All Comical, Touching, Slapstick Animals, Walking On Our Hind Legs, Trying To Make It A Noble Journey From Womb To Tomb, And The People Who Can't See It All That Way Bore Hell Out Of Me.

I Want Story, Wit, Music, Wryness, Color, And A Sense Of Reality In What I Read, And I Try To Get It In What I Write.