“Heart may still be the fire in hearth but I'm suddenly too cold to continue, and besides, there's no hearth here anyway and it's the end of June. Thursday. Almost noon. And all the buttons on my corduroy coat are gone. I don't know why. I'm sorry Hailey. I don't know what to do.”

“I want something else. I'm not even sure what to call it anymore except I know it feels roomy and it's drenched in sunlight and it's weightless and I know it's not cheap. Probably not even real”

“What can I say, I'm a sucker for abandoned stuff, misplaced stuff, forgotten stuff, any old stuff which despite the light of progress and all that, still vanishes every day like shadows at noon, goings unheralded, passings unmourned, well, you get the drift.As a counselor once told me -a counselor for Disaffected Yought, I might add: "You like that crap because it reminds you of you." Couldn't of said it better or put it more bluntly. Don't even disagree with it either.”

“I think that's what finally stopped me. I slid right to the edge. My legs were hanging over. And I could feel it too. I don't know how. There was no wind, no sound, no change of temperature. There was just this terrible emptiness reaching up for me.”

“We're the unmended, the untended,cold soldiers of the shoe. We're the neglected,the never resurrected, agonies of the few.We're the once kissed, unmissed and alwaysrefused. Because we're the unfinishedand feared and we're never pursued.And just that easily, on my behalf,I come around. Because I'm burning.The beast of War feeds only on the meats of War.And now I'm for carnage.Here's how my anguish frees.Destroy everyone of course. Because I'm unwantedand unsafe. And I'll take tears away with torments and rape,killings and fears not even the dead will escape.Encircling the Guilty, Ashamed, Blameless andEnslaved. Absolved. Butchering their prejudice.Patience. Their Value. Because I'm without value.I'm the coming of every holocaust. Turning no lost.Rending tissue, sinew and bone. Excepting no suffering.By me all levees will break. All silos heave.I will walk heavy.And I will walk strange.Because I am too soon.Because without Her, I am only revolutionsOf ruin.Because I am too soon.Because without You, I am only revolutionsOf ruin.I'm the prophecy prophecies pass.Why need dies at last.How oceans dry. Islands drown.And skies of salt crash to the ground.I turn the powerful. Defy the weak.Only grass grows down abandoned streets.For a greater economy shall follow Usand it will be undone.And a greater autonomy shall follow Usand it too will be undone.And a greater feeling shall follow Loveand it too we will blow to dust.For I am longings without trust. The cycloidal hastefreedom from Hailey forever wastes.Dust cares for only dust.And time only for Us.Because I am too soon.Because without Her, I am only revolutionsOf ruin.Because I am too soon.Because without You, I am only revolutionsOf ruin.We are always sixteen...”

“I've wandered as far west as I can go. Sitting now on the sand, I watch the sun blur into an aftermath. Reds finally marrying blues. Soon night will enfold us all. But the light is still not gone, not yet, and by it I can dimly see here my own dark hallway, or maybe it was just a foyer and maybe not dark at all, not in fact brightly lit, an afternoon sun blazing through the lead panes, now detected amidst what amounts to a long column of my yesterdays, towards the end, though not the very end of course, where I had stood at the age of seven, gripping my mother's wrists, trying as hard as I could to keep her from going.”

“I do not know anything about Art with a capital A. What I do know about is my art. Because it concerns me. I do not speak for others. So I do not speak for things which profess to speak for others. My art, however, speaks for me. It lights my way.”