Complaints About Reality Are Immature.

In The Dark That Followed - Lucy Said; "where I Was Born, The Trees Were Always In The Sun. And I Left That Place Because It Was Intolerant Of Rain. Now, We Are Here In A Place Where There Are No Trees And There Is Only Rain. And I Intend To Leave This Place - Because It Is Intolerant Of Light. Somewhere - There Must Be Somewhere Where Darkness And Light Are Reconciled. So I Am Starting A Rumour, Here And Now, Of Yet Another World. I Don't Know When It Will Present Itself - I Don't Know Where It Will Be. But - As With All Those Other Worlds Now Past When It Is Ready, I Intend To Go There.

What You People Who Weren't Yet Born Can Never Know Is What It Meant To Sleep In Cities Under Silent Falls Of Snow When All Night Long The Only Sounds You Heard Were Dogs That Parked At Trains That Passed So Far Away They Took A Short Cut Through Your Dreams And No One Even Woke. It Was The War That Changed That. It Was. After The Great War For Civilization - Sleep Was Different Everywhere.

All Of This Happened A Long Time Ago. But Not So Long Ago That Everyone Who Played A Part In It Is Dead. Some Can Still Be Met In Dark Old Rooms With Nurses In Attendance.

And What You Do Is You Go Into Where Your Anger Is, If You're Writing Anger, You Go Into Where Your Hatred Is, If You're Writing Hatred. Your Joy Is, If You're Writing Joy. You Find The Source Of The Energy That Draws Hatred, Anger, Joy, Etc., Etc., Etc. That's What You Have To Find. That's What You Do As An Actor And That's What You Do As A Writer. And You Bring People To The Page.

Time Is Light, Time Is Dark. You Either Dance, Or You Fall.