Saint Dismas promises me a last minute reprieve. He indulges my lackadaisical rhythm. I am late to everything in life, why not in the afterlife as well, dashing in with my shoes untied and my belt unstrung at two minutes to salvation.
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
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