The Clock Talked Loud. I

It Is Distraction, Not Meditation, That Becomes Habitual; Interruption, Not Continuity; Spasmodic, Not Constant Toil.

Literature Is A Place For Generosity And Affection And Hunger For Equals - Not A Prizefight Ring. We Are Increased, Confirmed In Our Medium, Roused To Do Our Best, By Every Good Writer, Every Fine Achievement. Would We Want One Good Writer Or Fine Book Less? The Sense Of Writers Being Pitted Against Each Other Is Bred Primarily By The Workings Of The Commercial Marketplace, And By Critics Lauding One Writer At The Expense Of Another While Ignoring The Existence Of Nearly All.

The Clock Talked Loud. I Threw It Away, It Scared Me What It Talked.

And When Is There Time To Remember, To Sift, To Weigh, To Estimate, To Total?

It Is A Long Baptism Into The Seas Of Humankind, My Daughter. Better Immersion Than To Live Untouched.