Life Is Brutal That Way

Words Are The Light And Sound Of Our Existence, The Heat Lightning By Which The Night Is Illuminated.

The Whole Planet Reeks Of Mysticism Without Revelation.

Love Is Nothing But Lust Misspelled.

Belief In One's Identity As A Poet Or Writer Prior To The Acid Test Of Publication Is As Naive And Harmless As The Youthful Belief In One's Immortality... And The Inevitable Disillusionment Is Just As Painful.

Once Upon A Time ... The Only Autonomous Intelligences We Humans Knew Of Were Us Humans. We Thought Then That If Humankind Ever Devised Another Intelligence That It Would Be The Result Of A Huge Project ... A Great Mass Of Silicon And Ancient Transistors And Chips And Circuit Boards ... A Machine With Lots Of Networking Circuits, In Other Words, Aping-if You Will Pardon The Expression-the Human Brain In Form And Function. Of Course, Ais Did Not Evolve That Way. They Sort Of Slipped Into Existence When We Humans Were Looking The Other Way.