After 60, All Of Us Belong To

I've Never Dated A Fictional Character Before. The Closest I Ever Came Was An Italian.

There's No Rhyme Or Reason To Anything That I Do. It's Whatever Seems Right At The Time.

Everybody Knows How Awful The World Is And What A Terrible Situation It Is And Each Person Distorts It In A Certain Way That Enables Him To Get Through. Some People Distort It With Religious Things. Some People Distort It With Sports, With Money, With Love, With Art, And They All Have Their Own Nonsense About What Makes It Meaningful, And All But Nothing Makes It Meaningful. These Things Definitely Serve A Certain Function, But In The End They All Fail To Give Life Meaning And Everyone Goes To His Grave In A Meaningless Way.

Does Art Imitate Life, Or Does Life Imitate Tv?

. . . They Confuse Everything I Do With My Life.