Listen To Me. I’m Shy. I’m Not

It's Now Expected Of Me That I Will Defy Expectation, So I Really Generally Seem To Be Free To Write What I Want.

The Key To Mostly Anything Is Pretending Your First Time Isn't.

I've Always Felt That The Writing I Responded To Most - The Novels And Stories That Compelled Me, That Felt Like They Described The World I Live In, With All Of Its Subjectivity, Irrationality, And Paradox, Were Those Which Made Free Use Of Myths And Symbols, Fantastic Occurences, Florid Metaphors, Linguistic Experiments, Etcetera - To Depict The Experiences Of Relatively 'realistic' Characters - On The Level Of Their Emotions And Psychology, Rather Than In Terms Of What Kinds Of Lives They Led Or What Kind Of Events They Experience.

I Met Someone Who Lives In An Elevator.

Apparently Brooklyn Needn't Always Push Itself To Be Something Else, Something Conscious And Anxious, Something Pointed Toward Manhattan.... Brooklyn Might Sometimes Also Be Pleased, As Here On Flatbush, To Be Its Grubby, Enduring Self.