Mother of otherness$$$ Eat me.

Is anyone anywhere happy?

There I went again$$$ building up a glamorous picture of a man who would love me passionately the minute he met me$$$ and all out of a few prosy nothings.

So much working$$$ reading$$$ thinking$$$ living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.

And the danger is that in this move toward new horizons and far directions$$$ that I may lose what I have now$$$ and not find anything except loneliness.

Life has been some combination of fairy-tale coincidence and joie de vivre and shocks of beauty together with some hurtful self-questioning.

Dying is an art.<br>Like everything else$$$<br>I do it exceptionally well.<br>I do it so it feels like hell.<br>I do it so it feels real.<br>I guess you could say I have a call.

I felt very still and empty$$$ the way the eye of a tornado must feel$$$ moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.

To the person in the bell jar$$$ blank and stopped as a dead baby$$$ the world itself is a bad dream.

When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn't know. "Oh$$$ sure you know$$$" the photographer said. "She wants$$$" said Jay Cee wittily$$$ "to be everything."