In The Modern World, All Literary Art

I'm A Fastidious Sort Of Fellow, Fond Of Watermelon And Buckbrush Nuts.

Music Clouds The Intellect But Clarifies The Heart.

It Is The Difference Between Men And Women, Not The Sameness, That Creates The Tension And The Delight.

Our Suicidal Poets (plath, Berryman, Lowell, Jarrell, Et Al.) Spent Too Much Of Their Lives Inside Rooms And Classrooms When They Should Have Been Trudging Up Mountains, Slogging Through Swamps, Rowing Down Rivers. The Indoor Life Is The Next Best Thing To Premature Burial.

I Thought Of The Wilderness We Had Left Behind Us, Open To Sea And Sky, Joyous In Its Plenitude And Simplicity, Perfect Yet Vulnerable, Unaware Of What Is Coming, Defended By Nothing, Guarded By No One.