I Am Not One Of These People

We Walked For Some Time, And Grew To Know Each Other, As Best As We'd Allow. These Are Some Of The High Points. They Lack Continuity. I Don't Apologize. I Merely Pointed It Out, Adding With Some Truth, I Feel, That Most Liaisons Lack Continuity. We Find Ourselves In Odd Places At Various Times, And For A Brief Span We Link Our Lives To Others And Then, Our Time Elapsed, We Move Apart. Through A Haze Of Pain Occasionally, Usually Through A Veil Of Memory That Clings, Then Passes, Sometimes As Though We Have Never Touched.

I Will Live To Piss In The Open Mouths Or The Open Graves Of My Enemies, Whichever Comes First.

Because The Chief Commodity A Writer Has To Sell Is His Courage. And If He Has None, He Is More Than A Coward. He Is A Sellout And A Fink And A Heretic, Because Writing Is A Holy Chore.

The Real Story Of Our Times Is Seldom Told In The Horse-puckey-filled Memoirs Of Dopey, Self-serving Presidents Or Generals, But In The Outrageous, Demented Lives Of Guys Like Lenny Bruce, Giordano Bruno, Scott Fitzgerald - And Paul Krassner. The Burrs Under Society's Saddle. The Pains In The Ass.

That's Probably One Of My Biggest Gripes With The Internet - That It Settles For Mediocrity And Disinformation, Which Puts All Information On The Same Level. Everything Has The Same Value, Whether It's Albert Einstein Speaking, Or Yoohoo27@msn.com.