We All Have An Old Knot In

You Must Talk To Me, Caravaggio. Or Am I Just A Book? Something To Be Read, Some Creature To Be Tempted Out Of A Loch And Shot Full Of Morphine, Full Of Corridors, Lies, Loose Vegetation, Pockets Of Stones.

You Have To Protect Yourself From Sadness. Sadness Is Very Close To Hate. Let Me Tell You This. This Is The Thing I Learned. If You Take In Someone Else's Poison – Thinking You Can Cure Them By Sharing It – You Will Instead Store It Within You. Those Men In The Desert Were Smarter Than You. They Assumed He Could Be Useful. So They Saved Him, But When He Was No Longer Useful They Left Him.

The Past Is Still, For Us, A Place That Is Not Safely Settled.

What Is Interesting And Important Happens Mostly In Secret, In Places Where There Is No Power. Nothing Much Of Lasting Value Ever Happens At The Head Table, Held Together By A Familiar Rhetoric. Those Who Already Have Power Continue To Glide Along The Familiar Rut They Have Made For Themselves.

You Don't Want To Write Your Own Opinion, You Don't Want To Just Represent Yourself, But Represent Yourself Through Someone Else.