Some Tiny Creature, Mad With

Mr Earbrass Stands On The Terrace At Twilight. It Is Bleak; It Is Cold; And The Virtue Has Gone Out Of Everything. Words Drift Through His Mind: Anguish Turnips Conjunctions Illness Defeat String Parties No Parties Urns Desuetude Disaffection Claws Loss Trebizond Napkins Shame Stones Distance Fever Antipodes Mush Glaciers Incoherence Labels Miasma Amputation Tides Deceit Mourning Elsewards.

When People Are Finding Meaning In Things -- Beware.

Ideally, If Anything [was] Any Good, It Would Be Indescribable.

All The Things You Can Talk About In Anyone's Work Are The Things That Are Least Important.... You Can Describe All The Externals Of A Performance - Everything, In Fact, But What Really Constitutes Its Core. Explaining Something Makes It Go Away, So To Speak; What's Important Is What's Left Over After You've Explained Everything Else.

My Favorite Journey Is Looking Out The Window.