I'm Reading A Manuscript By Rodney Jones,

There Are Many Reasons For Violence. This Is Just Something That Sometimes Happens. We'd See It In Treatment Centers - The Child Who'd Suffered Something Awful. Even In The Best Recovery There'd Be A Fear That Everything Would Fall Apart And They'd Become Victims Again. And Their Final Loyalty Was To Themselves. They Couldn't Be Forced. They Preferred To Wreck Everything, Preferred Self-destruction To Surrender. (175)

Each Thing I Do, I Rush Through So I Can Do Something Else. In Such A Way Do The Days Pass - -a Blend Of Stock Car Racing And The Never Ending Building Of A Gothic Cathedral. Through The Windows Of My Speeding Car I See All That I Love Falling Away: Books Unread, Jokes Untold, Landscapes Unvisited.

There's A Welsh Poet, R.s. Thomas. He Was A Very Crotchety, Strange Man, But His Poems Are Wonderful. He Was Nominated For The Nobel In The 1990s But Never Won.

Baudelaire's L'héautontimorouménos Was Long Seen To Be A Sexual Sadomasochistic Poem, It Is Now Generally Accepted That The Poem Is About Writing Poetry.

Writing Is A Job, A Craft, And You Learn It By Trying To Write Every Day And By Facing The Page With Humility And Gall. And You Have To Love To Read Books, All Kinds Of Books, Good Books. You Are Not Looking For Anything In Particular; You Are Just Letting Stuff Seep In.