Morning Comes Like A Scream

Do Not Be Critics, You People, I Beg You. I Was A Critic And I Wish I Could Take It All Back Because It Came From A Smelly And Ignorant Place In Me, And Spoke With A Voice That Was All Rage And Envy. Do Not Dismiss A Book Until You Have Written One, And Do Not Dismiss A Movie Until You Have Made One, And Do Not Dismiss A Person Until You Have Met Them. It Is A F@*$%load Of Work To Be Open-minded And Generous And Understanding And Forgiving And Accepting, But Christ, That Is What Matters. What Matters Is Saying Yes.

His Lies Were So Exquisite I Almost Wept.

Yes, A Dark Time Passed Over This Land, But Now There Is Something Like Light.

But Of Course There's No Logic To San Francisco Generally, A City Built With Putty And Pipe Cleaners, Rubber Cement And Colored Construction Paper. It's The Work Of Fairies, Elves, Happy Children With New Crayons

My Mind, I Know, I Can Prove, Hovers On Hummingbird Wings. It Hovers And It Churns. And When It's Operating At Full Thrust, The Churning Does Not Stop. The Machines Do Not Rest, The Systems Rarely Cool. And While I Can Forget Anything Of Any Importance--this Is Why People Tell Me Secrets--my Mind Has An Uncanny Knack For Organization When It Comes To Pain. Nothing Tormenting Is Ever Lost, Never Even Diminished In Color Or Intensity Or Quality Of Sound.