“If we’re going to do this, I kind of need you to do something first. Or during.”
“Like what?” I leered at him, trying to make my voice sexy.
“Throw me out the bedroom window.”

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
“If we’re going to do this, I kind of need you to do something first. Or during.”
“Like what?” I leered at him, trying to make my voice sexy.
“Throw me out the bedroom window.”
‘I'm creating a pile that can reach heaven,’ explained Sanju.
‘Why?’ asked Chhotu as excitement gripped him.
‘I'll climb right to the top,’ said Sanju ‘and meet God.’
‘Meet Bhagwan!’ repeated Chhotu clapping his hands. Then he paused. ‘Why?’ asked Chhotu.
‘So that I can ask Him to make you less foolish,’ said Sanju feeling happy.
I was led to this book by David Frum's substantial YouTube channel. He sometimes reviews old books.
I hit upon the idea, derived from a phrase of James Merrill's, that I should pay attention to those writers that had the greatest deposits in their word banks.
We walk. Last light on the grass where graves should be. Rain will not follow us.
If you ignore the world...
Caring about something...not caring about everything...because there has to be a limit...or I'd go crazy. So on this site, I care about the ability to write. But stop to consider - what a great and rare thing that ability is.