When Satan's Not In The

Cemeteries Have Always Had A Lure For Me. They Are Well Kept, Free From Ambiguity, Logical, Virile, And Alive. In Cemeteries You Can Summon Up Courage And Arrive At Decisions, In Cemeteries Life Takes On Distinct Contours -- I Am Not Referring To The Borders Of The Graves -- And If You Will, A Meaning.

Everybody Knows How Fallible Memory Can Sometimes Be. You Remember Certain Fragments Precisely, But As Soon As You Try To Join The Fragments Together, For A Story, There Is A Certain - Not Falsification, But A Shifting.

I Have Heard My Fill Of Hurtful Words. I Think It's Especially Egregious When Citizens Like Me, Who Point Out Abuses In Their Country, Are Referred To As 'do-gooders.' This Is How A Phrase That Can Be Used To Stop An Argument Dead Becomes Part Of Common Usage.

I Shall Speak Of How Melancholy And Utopia Preclude One Another. How They Fertilize One Another... Of The Revulsion That Follows One Insight And Precedes The Next... Of Superabundance And Surfeit. Of Stasis In Progress. And Of Myself, For Whom Melancholy And Utopia Are Heads And Tails Of The Same Coin.

What I Do Is Sometimes - At Least In Germany - Met With Wounding Campaigns. I Always Face The Question: Should I Grow Myself A Thick Skin And Ignore It, Or Should I Let Myself Be Wounded? I've Decided To Be Wounded, Since, If I Grew A Thick Skin, There Are Other Things I Wouldn't Feel Any More.