It's The Rare Book That's Able To

I Felt Lethal, On The Verge Of Frenzy. My Nightly Bloodlust Overflowed Into My Days And I Had To Leave The City. My Mask Of Sanity Was A Victim Of Impending Slippage. This Was The Bone Season For Me And I Needed A Vacation.

I Went To College In Vermont, And Then Stayed In The East Coast.

I Had Dreamed Of Something So Different From What Reality Was Now Offering Up, But That Dream Had Been A Blind Man's Vision. That Dream Was A Miracle. The Morning Was Fading. And I Remembered Yet Again That I Was A Tourist Here.

I'm Into, Oh Murders And Executions Mostly. It Depends.

I'm Not A Big Believer In Disciplined Writers. What Does Discipline Mean? The Writer Who Forces Himself To Sit Down And Write For Seven Hours Every Day Might Be Wasting Those Seven Hours If He's Not In The Mood And Doesn't Feel The Juice. I Don't Think Discipline Equals Creativity.