When The Newspapers Have Got Nothing Else

Did You Know I Staged The First Performance In America Of At The Hawk's Well?

With My Own Group I Like To Keep It Loose. They Have To Counter Rather Than Go With Me. When They Stop I Like To Be Moving.

A White Crowned Night Sparrow Sings As The Moon Sets. Thunder Growls Far Off. Our Campfire Is A Single Light. Amongst A Hundred Peaks And Waterfalls. The Manifold Voices Of Falling Water Take All Night. Wrapped In Your Down Bag Starlight On You Cheeks And Eyelids Your Breath Comes And Goes In A Tiny Cloud In The Frosty Night. Ten Thousand Birds Sing In The Sunrise. Ten Thousand Years Revolve Without Change. All This Will Never Be Again.

Lost In Loneliness And Pain. Black And Unendurable, Thinking Of You With Every Corpuscle Of My Flesh, In Every Instant Of Night And Day.

Art Is The Reasoned Derangement Of The Senses.