It's Very Painful To Be

Words Were All He Knew; They Possessed And Overwhelmed Him, As If They Were A Thousand White Cats With Whom He Shared A One-room Apartment.

We Launch Our Souls From The Cannons Of Art And Discipline, And On Any One Night, Hovering Over The Chimney Tops Of Europe, Halfway To The Stars, There Are Armies Of Brightly Spinning Spirits That Have Risen Like Fireworks, Tethered To The Souls Of Those Men And Women Who, By Reflection, Mortification, And Devotion, Effortlessly Outdazzle Kings.

The Shelf Was Filled With Books That Were Hard To Read, That Could Devastate And Remake One's Soul, And That, When They Were Finished, Had A Kick Like A Mule.

I Made A Boy's Mistake, Common Enough, Of Thinking That Real Life Was Knowing Many Things And Many People, Living Dangerously In Faraway Places, Crossing The Sea, Or Starting A Power Company On The Columbia River, A Steamship Line In Bolivia.

My Father Ran London Films. He Made Films Like 'the Red Shoes,' 'the Third Man.' And He Had Had A Long Career In The Film Business, Which Was Bifurcated With A Career In Intelligence. He Had To Deal With Gangsters, And Sometimes He Would Take Me With Him. Also, I Went To School With Their Children.