Life Is To Be Lived,

I Suddenly Recall The Arpeggios Of Laughter Lilting Across The Tender, Springtime Grass-gay-welling, Far-floating, Fluent, Spontaneous, A Bell-like Feminine Fluting, Then Suppressed; As Though Snuffed Swiftly And Irrevocably Beneath The Quiet Solemnity Of The Vespered Air Now Vibrant With Somber Chapel Bells.

Education Is All A Matter Of Building Bridges.

I Am An Invisible Man. No, I Am Not A Spook Like Those Who Haunted Edgar Allan Poe; Nor Am I One Of Your Hollywood-movie Ectoplasms.

I Feel The Need To Reaffirm All Of It, The Whole Unhappy Territory And All The Things Loved And Unloveable In It, For It Is All Part Of Me.

I Was Never More Hated Than When I Tried To Be Honest. Or When, Even As Just Now I've Tried To Articulate Exactly What I Felt To Be The Truth. No One Was Satisfied