I love the past, which doesn't
exist until I summon it, or make it up, and I love how you believe and certify me by your belief, whoever you are, a fiction too, held together by what?
Personality? Voice? I love abstractions, I
love to give them a nouny place to
live, a firm seat in the balcony of ideas, while music plays, I love them more than hard
evidence and shapely stones, more than
money, which can buy time, but not
enough. I love love, for example, its diminishments and renewals, I love being the stupidest happy
kid on the block.
And what's more interesting than gossip about love? When I
tell a friend that my life is falling
apart, what a subject for him to dine out on! What secrets for
him never to tell a soul, except
those souls to whom he tells
everything. I love how a good story insists on being told.