The Self Forms At The Edge Of

All Myth Is An Enriched Pattern, A Two-faced Proposition, Allowing Its Operator To Say One Thing And Mean Another, To Lead A Double Life.

The Words We Read And Words We Write Never Say Exactly What We Mean. The People We Love Are Never Just As We Desire Them. The Two Symbola Never Perfectly Match. Eros Is In Between.

Homer Must Have Felt This Pressure To Come Up With An Epic Poem That Would Sound Totally New To An Audience That Had Loved His Previous Best-seller.

Those Nights Lying Alone Are Not Discontinuous With This Cold Hectic Dawn. It Is Who I Am.

Eros Is An Issue Of Boundaries. He Exists Because Certain Boundaries Do. In The Interval Between Reach And Grasp, Between Glance And Counterglance, Between ‘i Love You’ And ‘i Love You Too,’ The Absent Presence Of Desire Comes Alive. But The Boundaries Of Time And Glance And I Love You Are Only Aftershocks Of The Main, Inevitable Boundary That Creates Eros: The Boundary Of Flesh And Self Between You And Me. And It Is Only, Suddenly, At The Moment When I Would Dissolve That Boundary, I Realize I Never Can.