What's it mean when suddenly you see your whole life read between the lines in a piece of writing? You'll know forever more the laws of property and the free economy, but whereas all the ordinary is so lacking in lyricism, one day you find yourself pushed back into a tree by the ghost of a marvelous sonnet who is haunting your unending afterthoughts. The afterthought of the prose you cannot come to grips with—the small words in your mind that run parallel to your dreams and reality—that you cannot...

The man in the window of the rain is more a character than a man. He is more a cartoon than a character. The rain does drop like acorns tonight. I slink into bed like a fox. Hear me in my funny state. The boxed holes in the screen of my window are infinitesimal, there are millions of them, like stars in the sky. I like to squint through one and go down the row of them. This is how I rock myself to bed at night, by staring doe-eyed at the holes, un-blinking.

The world outside is...

Does it ever get to you -- the contrivances of speaking in the public in a manner that is politically correct, socially and fashionably acceptable for the sole reason to uphold a customary practice that sheds everyone in the same light? The gentle-men and ladies are so keen on the policy of a polite and petite introduction that it kills me.

A 'pleased to meet you,' could never please me.

I want an introduction I can remember! And when a man extends his hand to me...