Part Of What Makes For

I Have Kind Of An Almost Religious Feeling About Poets. I Usually Refuse To Meet Them Because I Admire Them So Much. Except For Poe.

One Wants To Move Through Life With Elegance And Grace, Blossoming Infrequently But With Exquisite Taste, And Perfect Timing, Like A Rare Bloom, A Zebra Orchid... One Wants... But One So Seldom Gets What One Wants, Does One?

I'm In An Odd Place Right Now In New York Where I Routinely Get Trashed By Every Daily Drama Critic And Have A Few Allies Among Weekly/monthly Drama Critics, And You Sort Of Plot These Things Out And Figure It Out. But It's Just What Any Writer Goes Through, Periods Of Favor, Periods Of Disfavor. And The Trick Is Just To Keep Writing And To Not Let An Obsession.

Artists Know That Diligence Counts As Much, If Not More, As Inspiration; In Art, As In Politics, Patience Counts As Much As Revolution.

I Don't Understand Why I'm Not Dead. When Your Heart Breaks, You Should Die