If anything is certain, it is that I myself am not a Marxist.
I’m attempting to put myself in a bottle that will one day wash up on the beach for my children.
I will always be open to receive my friends. I will not force myself on them.
When Beverly and I got together in 1992, and I moved to be with her in the little round house she’d built in the middle of 20 acres of woods near Amity, I found myself immersed in a natural setting that I responded to with all my being.
Capitalism would have never let me be a filmmaker, living in Flint, Michigan with a high school education. I was going to have to make that happen myself.
There are people who are born deaf and grow up deaf who don’t speak at all, and some of them have told me that they resent a little bit that I do speak. But, you know, I have to be myself. I have to do what I’m comfortable doing.
I liked to write from the time I was about 12 or 13. I loved to read. And since I only spoke to my brother, I would write down my thoughts. And I think I wrote some of the worst poetry west of the Rockies. But by the time I was in my 20s, I found myself writing little essays and more poetry – writing at writing.
Not being able to govern events, I govern myself.
My grandfather was facing this terror, my parents, myself.
I try not to observe myself in the process of composing a poem because I don’t want to come up with a formula, which I would then be unscrupulous in using.