"am I Weird?" "yeah. But

You Cannot Hope To Sweep Someone Else Away By The Force Of Your Writing Until It Has Been Done To You.

Put An Egg In Your Shoe And Beat It, Make Like A Tree And Leave, Imitate An Amoeba And Split.

Our Memories Have Voices, Too. Often Sad Ones That Clamor Like Raised Arms In The Dark.

We Don't Know The Days That Will Change Our Lives. Probably Just As Well.

How Life Did Imitate Art Sometimes. And The Cruder The Art, The Closer The Imitation.