I. Settle down with Whitman's ghost and revel for a while in Leaves of Grass. It makes the mind wander slightly to a life, not much more than ordinary and to think that this is not such a bad thing. II. This old couch lacks the beauty of youth, with its cigarette burns and coffee stains; the floral pattern having worn away long ago. Nothing but character and comfort after a long, tiresome day, but this is all that a dreamer needs. III. All these words, pasted carefully in place, speaking volumes of heartbreak, beauty and the wondrous venture of love. It seems to me that the heart, being only tissue, is nothing more than a peripheral. IV. An old man in a dying trend once gave me a bit of good advice. He said to believe in a god of some sort, to grow fatter with every passing year and to never, ever marry a woman who wants to hyphenate her name.