When We Are Touched By A Song,

Every Heart To Love Will Come, But Like A Refugee

Be With Me In The Phases Of My Work Because My Brain Feels Like It Has Been Whipped And I Yearn To Make A Small Perfect Thing Which Will Live In Your Morning Like Curious Static Through A President's Elegy Or A Nude Hunchback Acquiring A Tan On The Crowded Oily Beach.

I'm Not A Very Nostalgic Person. I Don't Really Look At The Past And Summon Up Regrets, Or Self-congratulations, It Just Is Not A Mechanism That Operates Very Strongly In Me. So I Neither Have Regrets Nor Occasions For Self-congratulations.

Most Of The Time One Is Discouraged By The Work, But Now And Again By Some Grace Something Stands Out And Invites You To Work On It, To Elaborate It Or Animate It In Some Way. It's A Mysterious Process.

When You Stop Thinking About Yourself All The Time, A Certain Sense Of Repose Overtakes You.