There Are So Many Things

I Have Given Up Considering Happiness As Relevant.

I Really Think I Write About Everyday Life. I Don't Think I'm Quite As Odd As Others Say I Am. Life Is Intrinsically, Well, Boring And Dangerous At The Same Time. At Any Given Moment The Floor May Open Up. Of Course, It Almost Never Does; That's What Makes It So Boring.

If You're Doing Nonsense It Has To Be Rather Awful, Because There'd Be No Point. I'm Trying To Think If There's Sunny Nonsense. Sunny, Funny Nonsense For Children — Oh, How Boring, Boring, Boring. As Schubert Said, There Is No Happy Music. And That's True, There Really Isn't. And There's Probably No Happy Nonsense, Either.

I Don't Know What It Is I'm Doing. But It's Not That. Despite All Evidence To The Contrary.

The Helpful Thought For Which You Look Is Written Somewhere In A Book.