To Me, Clark Kent In A Phone

It's Always Been Hard For Me To Tell The Difference Between Denial And What Used To Be Known As Hope.

Undressing Her Was An Act Of Recklessness, A Kind Of Vandalism, Like Releasing A Zoo Full Of Animals, Or Blowing Up A Dam.

Poor Little Librarians Of The World, Those Girls, Secretly Lovely, Their Looks Marred Forever By The Cruelty Of A Pair Of Big Dark Eyeglasses!

Art Is A Form Of Exploration, Of Sailing Off Into The Unknown Alone, Heading For Those Unmarked Places On The Map. If Children Are Not Permitted-not Taught-to Be Adventurers And Explorers As Children, What Will Become Of The World Of Adventure, Of Stories, Of Literature Itself?

When I Remember That Dizzy Summer, That Dull, Stupid, Lovely, Dire Summer, It Seems That In Those Days I Ate My Lunches, Smelled Another's Skin, Noticed A Shade Of Yellow, Even Simply Sat, With Greater Lust And Hopefulness - And That I Lusted With Greater Faith, Hoped With Greater Abandon. The People I Loved Were Celebrities, Surrounded By Rumor And Fanfare; The Places I Sat With Them, Movie Lots And Monuments. No Doubt All Of This Is Not True Remembrance But The Ruinous Work Of Nostalgia, Which Obliterates The Past, And No Doubt, As Usual, I Have Exaggerated Everything.