you cannot teach art—you cannot make a soul
…there is no map of the soul because we make it up as we go…
… the house is on fire, but go ahead – finish painting the verandah…
…the winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows…
…we each harbor a shadow self with shadowy motives and murky desires…
…summer softens lines that winter cruelly shows…
…your memory is a warm stone hidden in my hand I’m always turning over…
I see you kneeling in church—stained only by colored windows
…all kinds of images swim like tropical fish in the bathysphere inside my skull …
…futility is being sorry while doing nothing to remove the cause …
yes, writing is mostly a dream, but angels visit in dreams
…it begins with isolation – demons always inhabit desolate places…
…never be disappointing – you may wound me, but you must never be disappointing…
…the making of stories is only one part of my craft -mainly, I’m a heart whisperer…