Her Fingers Moved Among Barnacles And Mussels,

You Can't Shape Me Anymore. I Am The Uncontrolled Element, The Random Act. I Am Forward Movement In Time. You Think You Can See Me? Then Tell Me, Who Am I? You Don't Know.

We Don't Have A Unitary Society Anymore, You Know; It's Very Fragmented. I Look Up And Down My Block In Silverlake And There Is A Different Universe In Every House.

Depression, Suffering And Anger Are All Part Of Being Human.

It Was Her First Book, An Indigo Cover With A Silver Moonflower, An Art Nouveau Flower, I Traced My Finger Along The Silver Line Like Smoke, Whiplash Curves. ... I Touched The Pages Her Hands Touched, I Pressed Them To My Lips, The Soft Thick Old Paper, Yellow Now, Fragile As Skin. I Stuck My Nose Between The Bindings And Smelled All The Readings She Had Given, The Smell Of Unfiltered Cigarettes And The Espresso Machine, Beaches And Incense And Whispered Words In The Night. I Could Hear Her Voice Rising From The Pages. The Cover Curled Outward Like Sails.

It's Such A Liability To Love Another Person.