There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them.

The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.

I am so hungry for a big smashing creative burgeoning burdened love.

I get into a rut, unable to yank my mind out of it.

Let me not be weak and tell others how bleeding I am internally; how day by day it drips, and gathers, and congeals.

Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel, For that rare, random descent.