Success, Instead Of Giving Freedom

I’m A Writer, And Everything I Write Is Both A Confession And A Struggle To Understand Things About Myself And This World In Which I Live. This Is What Everyone’s Work Should Be-whether You Dance Or Paint Or Sing. It Is A Confession, A Baring Of Your Soul, Your Faults, Those Things You Simply Cannot Or Will Not Understand Or Accept. You Stumble Forward, Confused, And You Share. If You’re Lucky, You Learn Something.

They Know Your Name, Address, Telephone Number, Credit Card Numbers, Who Else Is Driving The Car "for Insurance", ... Your Driver's License Number. In The State Of Massachusetts, This Is The Same Number As That Used For Social Security, Unless You Object To Such Use. In That Case, You Are Assigned A Number And You Reside Forever More On The List Of "weird People Who Don't Give Out Their Social Security Number In Massachusetts."

Great Stones They Lay Upon His Chest Until He Plead Aye Or Nay. They Say He Give Them But Two Words. "more Weight," He Says. And Died.

Rise Early. Write. Disappoint Your Sons. Read The Newspaper. Go To Bed Early. Success.

A Playwright... Is... The Litmus Paper Of The Arts. He's Got To Be, Because If He Isn't Working On The Same Wave Length As The Audience, No One Would Know What In Hell He Was Talking About.