My Heart And The Elevator, A Plummet

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.

What I'm Constantly Striving For In My Prose Is Clarity. So That, Ideally, The Writing Will Become So Transparent That The Reader Will Forget That The Medium Of Communication Is Language.

I Don't Want To Indulge Myself In The Luxury Of Writing Beautiful Paragraphs Just For The Sake Of Making Beautiful Writing. That Doesn't Interest Me. I Want Everything To Be Essential.

Artists Freeze Themselves Into These Weird Postures That Are Meant To Be Impressive And Involving, Then They Fling Them Out Into The World Like Polaroids, And Then They Move On. And I'm Stuck In This Intense Relationship To The Polaroid.

It's Impossible To Overstate How My Relationship To Music Forms A Preserve For The Esoteric Or Even Spiritual Aspect Of My Relationship To Cultural Stuff, To Human Expressivity... It's A Safe Enclosure.