Often Writing Is Like A

Memory, So Complete And Clear Or So Evasive, Has To Be Ended, Has To Be Put Aside, As If One Were Leaving A Chapel And Bringing The Prayer To An End In One's Head.

Athletes Have Studied How To Leap And How To Survive The Leap Some Of The Time And Return To The Ground. They Don't Always Do It Well. But They Are Our Philosophers Of Actual Moments And The Body And Soul In Them, And Of Our Maneuvers In Our Emergencies And Longings.

I Distrust Summaries, Any Kind Of Gliding Through Time, Any Too Great A Claim That One Is In Control Of What One Recounts; I Think Someone Who Claims To Understand But Is Obviously Calk, Someone Who Claims To Write With Emotion Recollected In Tranquility, Is A Fool And A Liar. To Understand Is To Tremble. To Recollect Is To Re-enter And Be Riven. ... I Admire The Authority Of Being On One's Knees In Front Of The Event.

Death And I Are Head To Head In A Total Collision, Pure And Mutual Distaste.

I Have Aids. I Am Surprised That I Do. I Have Not Been Exposed Since1977, Which Is To Say That My Experience, Myadventures In Homosexuality Took Place Largely In The1960s And '70s, And Back Then I Relied On Time And Abstinence To Indicate My Degree Of Freedom From Infectionand To Protect Others And Myself.