If You Want To Make

So The Problem For The Poetic Artist Or The Photographer Is The Common Problem Of Continuous Attentiveness, Continuous Attempts To Notice What He Is Noticing, Continuous Alertness To Catch Himself Thinking Or Seeing, Devotional Attentiveness To The World He's Moving Through.

The Real America That Whitman Proclaimed And Thoreau Decoded.

I Really Would Like To Stop Working Forever–never Work Again, Never Do Anything Like The Kind Of Work I’m Doing Now–and Do Nothing But Write Poetry And Have Leisure To Spend The Day Outdoors And Go To Museums And See Friends. And I’d Like To Keep Living With Someone — Maybe Even A Man — And Explore Relationships That Way. And Cultivate My Perceptions, Cultivate The Visionary Thing In Me. Just A Literary And Quiet City-hermit Existence.

I Believe That We Are Put Here In Human Form To Decipher The Hieroglyphs Of Love And Suffering. And, There Is No Degree Of Love Or Intensity Of Feeling That Does Not Bring With It The Possibility Of A Crippling Hurt. But, It Is A Duty To Take That Risk And Love Without Reserve Or Defense.

Every American Wants More & More Of The World And Why Not, You Only Live Once. But The Mistake Made In America Is Persons Accumulate More & More Dead Matter, Machinery, Possessions & Rugs & Fact Information At The Expense Of What Really Counts As More: Feeling, Good Feeling, Sex Feeling, Tenderness Feeling, Mutual Feeling. You Own Twice As Much Rug If You're Twice As Aware Of The Rug.