Sleep tries to seduce me by promising a more reasonable tomorrow.

Sleep tries to seduce me by promising a more reasonable tomorrow.

The long days seduce all thought away, and we lie like the lizards in the sun, postponing our lives indefinitely.

All time is now, and time can do no better. Nothing can ever be more now than now, and before this nothing was.

Once upon a time there was a woman who was just like all women. And she married a man who was just like all men. And they had some children who were just like all children. And it rained all day. The woman had to skewer the hole in the kitchen sink, when it was blocked up. The man went to the pub every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. The other nights he mended his broken bicycle, did the pool coupons, and longed for money and power. The woman read love stories and longed for things to be different. The children fought and yelled and played and had scabs on their knees. In the end they all died.

What is poetry? Do not enquire. The secret dies by prying. How does the heart beat? I fainted when I saw it on the screen, opening and closing like a flower ... Poetry is like this, it is life moving, terrible, vivid. Look the other way when you write, or you might faint.

Music is the unspoken language that can convey feelings more accurately than talking ever could.