I was up before the sun, though she (unlike lazy me) lit the sky long before I set toes to floor. Bluejays and reed baskets, rain and dew. Here's three dawns in a row and honey for tea - what's a cold summer morning but June hydrangeas, sez Yeats.

x

I felt like Faulkner, throwing the story to the winds. I felt like McMurtry, writing two hundred pages of boring shit before I really got going. I felt like solitary J.D. Salinger, who only mixed interpersonally to get inside the heads of real people and then cut them out of his life and nailed their hearts and souls to the page with a million typewriter keys.

-- Kinky Friedman
from Kill Two Birds and Get Stoned