In Twentieth-century Old Earth, A Fast Food

The Life Of A Poet Lies Not Merely In The Finite Language-dance Of Expression But In The Nearly Infinite Combinations Of Perception And Memory Combined With The Sensitivity To What Is Perceived And Remembered.

Seduction... Was Both A Science And Art - A Blend Of Skill, Discipline, Proximity, And Opportunity. Mostly Proximity.

I Despair At The Rise Of Modern Violence. I Truly Give In To Despair At Times, That Deep, Futureless Pit Of Despair.... I Watch The American Slaughterhouse, The Casual Attacks On Popes, Presidents, And Uncounted Others, And I Wonder If There Are Many More Out There With The Ability Or If Butchery Has Simply Become The Modern Way Of Life.

The Beauty Of That June Day Was Almost Staggering. After The Wet Spring, Everything That Could Turn Green Had Outdone Itself In Greenness And Everything That Could Even Dream Of Blooming Or Blossoming Was In Bloom And Blossom. The Sunlight Was A Benediction. The Breezes Were So Caressingly Soft And Intimate On The Skin As To Be Embarrassing.

Nothing Helps An Artist's Career More Than A Little Death And Obscurity.