April 22, 2002

  • Choose One:


    Either...


    Nothing proving or sick or partial. Nothing false, nothing difficult or easy or small or colossal.  Nothing ordinary or extraordinary, nothing emptied or filled, real or unreal: nothing feeble and known or clumsy and guessed.  Everywhere tints childrening, innocent spontaneous, true.  Nowhere possibly what flesh and impossibly such a garden, but actually flowers which breasts are among the very mouths of light.  Nothing believed or doubted; brain over heart, surface: nowhere hating or to fear; shadow, mind without soul.  Only how measureless cool flames of making; only each other building always distinct selves of mutual entirely opening; only alive.  Never the murdered finalities of wherewhen and yesno, impotent nongames of  wrongright and rightwrong; never to gain or pause, never the soft adventure of undoom, greedy anguishes and cringing ecstasies of inexistence; never to rest and never to have: only to grow.  Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.

    e.e. cummings


    Or...


    'What an author likes to write most is his signature on
    the back of a check.'

    Brendan Francis

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