I have dipped into Ian McEwan and so on. I tend not to stick with one writer. But I dip in here and there.
And now the question: what do we do with the longing for what can destroy us?
I say every dog looks like no other but that isn't true. Not entirely. Difference is slippery.
Why are you not where you belong? A black hat on a hook says nothing. Ashes mirror ashes In a mirroring window.
To say you loved a person. To say that person no longer exists. A tragic flawed fate going on and on and on.
A child, then a man, now a feather Passing through a furious fire Called time.
You are reduced To the after-sorrow That will last my lifetime. The hair-tearing Grief of the mother Whose child has been swept away.
Anything is beautiful if you say it is.
Along with the good qualities, if someone isn't vulnerable I can't be around them to a certain extent. And I don't mean vulnerable to me or vulnerable to me in a sexual way. I just mean vulnerable, period.
It's funny because it's funny.
What's been exciting for me is to read the scripts.