Swear To Me Swear To

Don't Give Me What I Ask For, Give Me What I Need.

I'm Rightly Tired Of The Pain I Hear And Feel, Boss. I'm Tired Of Bein On The Road, Lonely As A Robin In The Rain. Not Never Havin No Buddy To Go On With Or Tell Me Where We's Comin From Or Goin To Or Why. I'm Tired Of People Bein Ugly To Each Other. It Feels Like Pieces Of Glass In My Head. I'm Tired Of All The Times I've Wanted To Help And Couldn't. I'm Tired Of Bein In The Dark. Mostly It's The Pain. There's Too Much. If I Could End It, I Would. But I Can't.

I've Spent My Whole Life Doing Some Things Because They Were Logical And Not Doing Others Because They Were Not. I've Seen What Happens When People Act On Intuition, Or For Illogical Reasons. Sometimes The Results Are Ludicrous And Embarrassing; More Often They Are Simply Horrible. But Here I Am, Just The Same, Behaving Like A Crackbrained Crystal Gazer.

Most Books About Writing Are Filled With Bullshit. Fiction Writers, Present Company Included, Don’t Understand Very Much About What They Do—not Why It Works When It’s Good, Not Why It Doesn’t When It’s Bad.

I Tend To Scare Myself.