Food ... Is The Topmost

The Writer Is One Who, Embarking Upon A Task, Does Not Know What To Do... Writing Is A Process Of Dealing With Not-knowing, A Forcing Of What And How.

"i Smell Fennel," Launcelot Said. "that Reminds Me, I Should Tell You I Have Discovered A Specific For Maims. You Take Salt, Good-quality River Mud, And Bee Urine, And Slather It On The Maim And Hold It There For Two Days. Works Like A Charm. Gathering The Bee Urine Is A Bit Of A Bore."

Endings Are Elusive, Middles Are Nowhere To Be Found, But Worst Of All Is To Begin, To Begin, To Begin.

The Death Of God Left The Angels In A Strange Position. They Were Overtaken Suddenly By A Fundamental Question. One Can Attempt To Imagine The Moment. How Did They Look At The Instant The Question Invaded Them, Flooding The Angelic Consciousness, Taking Hold With Terrifying Force? The Question Was, "what Are Angels?" New To Questioning, Unaccustomed To Terror, Unskilled In Aloneness, The Angels (we Assume) Fell Into Despair.

People Always Like To Hear That They're Under Stress, Makes Them Feel Better. You Can Imagine What They'd Feel If They Were Told They Weren't Under Stress.