I Don’t Like To Make Strong Statements.

We Live But For A Short Time, We See But Very Little, And We Know Almost Nothing; So, At Least, Let's Do Some Dreaming. Have Yourself A Very Good Sunday, My Dear Readers.

I Think A Lot About The Poems I Wasn't Able To Write...i Masturbrated...solitude Is Essentially A Matter Of Pride; You Bury Yourself In Your Own Scent. The Issue Is The Same For All Real Poets. If You've Been Happy For Too Long, You Become Banal. By The Same Token, If You've Been Unhappy For A Long Time, You Lose Your Poetic Power...happiness And Poverty Can Only Coexist For The Briefest Time. Afterword Either Happiness Coarsens The Poet Or The Poem Is So True It Destroys His Happiness.

I Certainly See Myself More As A Craftsman Than As An Artist.

Yet Does Illustrating In A New Way Signify A New Way Of Seeing?

A Writer In Someone Who Spends Years Patiently Trying To Discover The Second Being Inside Him, And The World That Makes Him Who He Is.