What A Bog And Labyrinth The Human

Randomness I Love. And I Still Love Just A Holler Right In The Middle Of An Ongoing Narrative. Pain Or Joy, Ecstasy.

The First Two Drinks Were Always Wonderfully Liberating. You Think Better. You're Braver, And You'll Say Anything. If You Could Just Hang In There With Two Or Three, It'd Be Beautiful. The Trouble Was I Couldn't.

I Wake My Wife Up At 3 A.m. And Say, "listen To This!"

I Wouldn't Buy Somebody's Album On A Dare If They Called Him A Musician's Musician. I Don't Write To Be A Writer's Writer. I Don't Want To Be Like The Little-magazine Writer.

Most Novels I Come Across Have All The Excitement Of A Long Trip On A Bus With A Sensitive Glee Club. Yammer And Chat.