Why don't you write books people can read? -Nora Barnacle 
http://www.online-literature.com/for...ad.php?t=20367
I’ve been trying to think of all the things that I want to write about, and it only seems to lead me to all the things I want to wish for, so I’m going write about my wishes. I’ll start with material wishes, just to get them out of the way, and hope that I get tired of writing before any really embarrassing emotional or spiritual type wishes fall out in the open. I wish I had a 1964 Lincoln Continental with suicide doors and a 460ci engine that will do 100 miles an hour without even feeling the
My Two Stories
The most lofty and laudable intention that a person might have for writing, which might also be considered the most simple and natural, is to have a means of direct, human communication. This is the cause of development of language, both spoken and written, and whether we write truth or lies, fact or nonsense, human communication is always the goal. I find it necessary to advocate specifically such a view, which should be universally accepted as self evident, in an
Under
Arches rich—
chymical hymns—
immediate meditations:
eden;
dense,
eastern,
sinistral.
If I had a semicircle,
I’d save up to get two more semicircles to put inside it.
Then it would take a wise man—
A man who would give his life to figure my plight—
To tell me what I’d wasted.
Everyone says this poem is stupid and silly. They're right, but I
As of today I am a published poet! I didn't think they were serious, but I recieved the actual hardback copy today in the mail. It's only one poem of mine in a collection of numerous poems. I only sent it as a throwaway experiment, and now I wish I had sent a better poem--but it's there, in print. Now I can just sit back and watch the accolades roll in. Right?
Russ the Provider
—Russell, I need you to wash these eggs and take them to the Forster’s by ten. Alice is making a quiche for the potluck, and she’ll need them by at least ten o’clock.
Russ, sitting at the kitchen table long after breakfast had been cleared away, looked up from his cup of coffee.
—Where are you gonna hide yerself? Why don’cha take ‘em yerself, and make yer cass’role over there. You do enough cookin’ at the Forster’s
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