History Is A Needle For

My Heart Sings Of Your Longing For Me, And My Thoughts Climb Down To Marvel At Your Mercy. I Do Not Fear As You Gather Up My Days. Your Name Is The Sweetness Of Time, And You Carry Me Close Into The Night, Speaking Consolations, Drawing Down Lights From The Sky, Saying, See How The Night Has No Terrors For One Who Remembers The Name.

Well, You Know, There's Depression And Depression. What I Mean By Depression In My Own Case Is That Depression Isn't Just The Blues. It's Not Just Like I Have A Hangover In The Weekend ... The Girl Didn't Show Up Or Something Like That. It Isn't That. It's Not Really Depression, It's A Kind Of Mental Violence Which Stops You From Functioning Properly From One Moment To The Next. You Lose Something Somewhere And Suddenly You're Gripped By A Kind Of Angst Of The Heart And Of The Spirit.

And Here You Are Hurried, And Here You Are Gone; And Here Is The Love, That It's All Built Upon.

You Can Keep The Body As Well-oiled And Receptive As Possible, But Whether You're Actually Going To Be Able To Go For The Long Haul Is Really Not Your Own Choice.

This Mental Space Is Occupied And Everything Is Mine.