It's One Of The Great Tragedies Of

When You Hit A Wall – Of Your Own Imagined Limitations – Just Kick It In.

I Had A Definite Sense Of Somehow Being A Passenger In An Evil Vehicle Crusing Through Paradise.

When You Consider All The Writers Who Never Even Had A Machine. Who Would Have Given An Eyeball For A Good Typewriter. Any Typewriter. All The Ones Who Wrote On A Matchbook Covers. Paper Bags. Toilet Paper. Who Had Their Writing Destroyed By Their Jailers. Who Persisted Beyond All Odds.

Words Are Tools Of Imagery In Motion.

My Dad's Side Of The Family ... They're A Real Bizarre Bunch, Going Back To The Original Colonies. That Side's Got A Real Tough Strain Of Alcoholism. It Goes Back Generations And Generations, So That You Can't Remember When There Was A Sober Grandfather.