But I Dig Negroes. I Dig Them

Sadness Of Love Without Release.

I Wouldn't Want A Boy To Think I Was Pretty Unless He Was The Kind Of Boy Who Thought I Was Pretty.

I Need An Office, So I Can Have A Place Where I Don't Write.

She Extended A Hand That I Didn't Know How To Take, So I Broke Its Fingers With My Silence.

I Am Always Sad, I Think. Perhaps This Signifies That I Am Not Sad At All, Because Sadness Is Something Lower Than Your Normal Disposition, And I Am Always The Same Thing. Perhaps I Am The Only Person In The World, Then, Who Never Becomes Sad. Perhaps I Am Lucky.