We All Have An Old

He Came To This Country Like A Torch On Fire And He Swallowed Air As He Walked Forward And He Gave Out Light

You're Getting Everyone's Point Of View At The Same Time, Which For Me, Is The Perfect State For A Novel: A Cubist State, The Cubist Novel.

To Write About Someone Like Myself Would Be Very Limiting.

In Canada Pianos Needed Water. You Opened Up The Back And Left A Full Glass Of Water, And A Month Later The Glass Would Be Empty. Her Father Had Told Her About The Dwarfs Who Drank Only At Pianos, Never In Bars.

If She Were A Writer She Would Collect Her Pencils And Notebooks And Favourite Cat And Write In Bed. Strangers And Lovers Would Never Get Past The Locked Door.