Use Unlikely Materials. Who Would

I Mean, I Have The Feeling That Something In My Mind Is Poisoning Everything Else.

I Have No Ear For Music. When I Attend A Concert, I Endeavor Gamely To Follow The Sequence And Relationship Of Sounds But Cannot Keep It Up For More Than A Few Minutes. Visual Impressions, Reflections Of Hands In Lacquered Wood, A Diligent Bald Spot Over A Fiddle, Take Over, And Soon I Am Bored Beyond Measure By The Motions Of The Musicians.

Why Should I Tolerate A Perfect Stranger At The Bedside Of My Mind?

I Would Like To Spare The Time And Effort Of Hack Reviewers And, Generally, Persons Who Move Their Lips When Reading.

Was She Really Beautiful? Was She At Least What They Call Attractive? She Was Exasperation, She Was Torture.