How can THIS writer be happy?


When I speak to people, I feel happy as sand-

boys and

castles and dunes on the

coast as we run down the slopes



hand, and we still could, you know; if

you’d only say yes and be

happy with me

just as I am, no more:

no less:

no change

at all.


And how can this writer be happy as

that?  How can this

righter of wrongs not allow himself to be





by doctors and strife and life

of lonely






For you know that

for someone

like me and my offspring,

variety is

key to being happy and whole:

and if life only

presents the

gifts of unchange-


ability, then nothing is good nor[e]

fine nor[e]

more closely aligned to the

right of the page than the

left: how sinister that

is, and how sad I become.


So do tell me this, if telling

you can man-

age, without [h]olding

my hand; that hand of a mil-



sed words: if the happiness in my

life proceeds from

communication between a face and

another, and their sex and my


and our love touchingly together,

and our fun – July expressed – and


coffees and in-

fusions of mind and body both,

and the laughter that

flows forth, unstopping our thoughts

and making so possible

a joy of unlimited taughts,

then how should I pursue the act

of creation via simply sitting in

solitude and

producing the reams and

phrases and reams and


senses you

must know I want

you to



And thus, in truth, my question can simply

be reduced to these

following few words I right


if I want

to be a writer,

how can I be happy?


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