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Harriet, my dog, she has a pink bow around her body and we are driving across states to be on TV, a dog show.

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There are many forms of prison

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Sometimes there is a shadow on my wall, of my eyelashes and I remember yours, said to be so similar to mine. Inside the envelope is the truth which circulates in stale air it's all my fault, all my fault,

A new story, a story which is really new and really a story, will give the person who reads or hears it the sense that the world has become alive again for him. I would put it like this: the world will start to breathe for him where before it had seemed as if made of ice or rock. And it is only in the arms of that which breathes that we can fall asleep, for only then are we confident that we will ourselves wake up again. Gabriel Josipovici; Goldberg: Variations

An apolitical appeal

I Like Your Window When It Is Open Sitting On Your Future I Like The Smile That Touchs Fingers When Mornings Grow Too Long I Like Your Name ready and...