I've Yet To Meet Somebody

Self-consciousness Is The Destroyer Of Erotic Joy.

It Was Thought, Perception, Sensations That Interested Her, The Conscious Mind As A River Through Time, And How To Represent Its Onward Roll, As Well As All The Tributaries That Would Swell It, And The Obstacles That Would Divert It. If Only She Could Reproduce The Clear Light Of A Summer's Morning.

The Cost Of Oblivious Daydreaming Was Always This Moment Of Return, The Realignment With What Had Been Before And Now Seemed A Little Worse.

It Was Always The View Of My Parents...that Hot Weather Encouraged Loose Morals Among Young People.

One Has To Have The Courage Of One's Pessimism.