I've Always Felt That If

I Was Funny -- Ha-ha, Not Peculiar. It Was A Modest Currency, Like Pennies: Pedestrian, Somewhat Laborious, But A Currency Nonetheless. I Was Funny, In Public, Most Often At My Own Expense.

It Doesn't Ever Occur To You, As You Fashion Your Mask So Carefully, That It Will Grow Into Your Skin And Graft Itself, Come To Seem Irremovable.

But Do You Know This Idea Of The Imaginary Homeland? Once You Set Out From Shore On Your Little Boat, Once You Embark, You'll Never Truly Be At Home Again. What You've Left Behind Exists Only In Your Memory, And Your Ideal Place Becomes Some Strange Imaginary Concoction Of All You've Left Behind At Every Stop.

If I Had To Summarize, Most Broadly, My Concerns As A Writer, I'd Say The Question 'how Then Must We Live?' Is At The Heart Of It, For Me.

Maybe That, Really, Is As Good A Definition As Any Of An Artist In The World: A Ruthless Person.