These are the days after. Everything now is measured by after.

When I work I have a sculptor's sense of the shape of the words I'm making. I use a machine with larger than average letters: the bigger the better.

It is all falling indelibly into the past.

I've always felt that my subject was living in dangerous times.

Years after I'd seen him for the last time I found myself thinking of him unexpectedly and often. You know how certain places grow powerful in the mind with passing time. In those early morning dreams when I come back to bed after a sleepy pee and fall quickly into the narrow end of the night, there is one set of streets I keep returning to, one dim mist of railroad rooms and certain figures reappear, borderline ghosts.

Fame and secrecy are the high and low ends of the same fascination.

Making things difficult for the reader is less an attack on the reader than it is on the age and its facile knowledge-market.