In The End, It Is

I Can't Help But Think That It's An Unfortunate Custom To Name Children After People Who Come To Sticky Ends. Even If They Are Fictional Characters, It Doesn't Bode Well For The Poor Things. There Are Too Many Judes And Tesses And Clarissas And Cordelias Around. If We Must Name Our Children After Literary Figures Then We Should Search Out Happy Ones, Although It's True They Are Much Harder To Find.

When You Chopped Logs With The Ax And They Split Open They Smelled Beautiful, Like Christmas. But When You Split Someone's Head Open It Smelled Like Abattoir And Quite Overpowered The Scent Of The Wild Lilacs You'd Cut And Brought Into The House Only This Morning, Which Was Already Another Life.

Some People Spend Their Whole Lives Looking For Themselves, Yet Our Self Is The One Thing We Surely Cannot Lose (how Like A Cheap Philosopher I Am Become, Staying In This Benighted Place). From The Moment We Are Conceived It Is The Pattern In Our Blood And Our Bones Are Printed Through With It Like Sticks Of Seaside Rock. Nora, On The Other Hand, Says That She’s Surprised Anyone Knows Who They Are, Considering That Every Cell And Molecule In Our Bodies Has Been Replaced Many Times Over Since We Were Born.

I Think About Death A Lot, I Really Do, Because I Can't Believe I Won't Exist. It's The Ego Isn't It? I Feel That I Should Retreat Into A Better Form Of Zen Buddhism Than This Kind Of Ego-dominated Thing. But I Don't Know, I Mean, I Want To Come Back As A Tree But I Suspect That It's Just Not Going To Happen, Is It?

Certainly I Had A Really Terrible Time With 'emotionally Weird.' When I Finished It, I Thought, 'i Can't Write Any More.