In retrospect, I wish I had taken theater classes in my college career.  I’ve always enjoyed reciting poetry and Shakespeare.  And I would think that is the main part of acting.

I mistook the restaurant business and the bar I worked as theater.

But in a way, it is, not always a very thoughtful one, not often deep, but yet some kind of clearing house, in a democratic way, a form of allowing for the collective unconscious to come through, as it seems for birds in Springtime.

At my mother’s apartment, I slumber on a green inflatable camping air mattress, under a comforter, her very cluttered study, the room colder than others.  A soft sexuality of poems and songs comes over me as I rest, not wishing yet to rise and face the lonely day.

Was I wrong to want to write... who has time for books and poems anymore...  Better as songs, better as a television show...