We Read To Find Life, In All

It's The Strangest Thing About Being Human: To Know So Much, To Communicate So Much, And Yet Always To Fall So Drastically Short Of Clarity, To Be, In The End, So Isolate And Inadequate. Even When People Try To Say Things, They Say Them Poorly Or Obliquely, Or They Outright Lie, Sometimes Because They're Lying To You, But As Often Because They're Lying To Themselves.

But We're Lost In A World Of Appearances Now.

But Do You Know This Idea Of The Imaginary Homeland? Once You Set Out From Shore On Your Little Boat, Once You Embark, You'll Never Truly Be At Home Again. What You've Left Behind Exists Only In Your Memory, And Your Ideal Place Becomes Some Strange Imaginary Concoction Of All You've Left Behind At Every Stop.

I Was Funny -- Ha-ha, Not Peculiar. It Was A Modest Currency, Like Pennies: Pedestrian, Somewhat Laborious, But A Currency Nonetheless. I Was Funny, In Public, Most Often At My Own Expense.

Maybe That, Really, Is As Good A Definition As Any Of An Artist In The World: A Ruthless Person.