Do You Come To Art To Be

I Went To The Top Of Vesuvius And Looked In.

Outside The Leaves On The Trees Constricted Slightly; They Were The Deep Done Green Of The Beginning Of Autumn. It Was A Sunday In September. There Would Only Be Four. The Clouds Were High And The Swallows Would Be Here For Another Month Or So Before They Left For The South Before They Returned Again Next Summer.

[property] Is A Brilliant, Chillingly Revelatory Piece Of Fiction, A Work Of Craft, Economy And Such Good Merciless Observation-one Of Those Rare, Crucial Novels Illuminating A History We Think We Know And Understand So That After We've Read It We'll Never Forget Its Truths.

I Wouldn't Call My Work Modernist. I Would Rust If I Try To Think About Labels. I'd Feel Like The Tin Man In 'the Wizard Of Oz.

Remember You Must Live. Remember You Most Love. Remainder You Mist Leaf.