Lovemaking Seems All Too Absurd

Mystery. The Strangeness Of Place So Necessary To Some Creative Spirits. A Perfect Mixture Of The Classical Utopia And The Pagan Mystery.

The Past Is Dead And Buried. But I Know Now That Buried Things Have A Way Of Rising To The Surface When One Least Expects Them To.

Books ... Were Merely Nodes In A Near-infinite Matrix Of Information That Exists In Four Dimensions, Evolving Toward The Idea Of The Concept Of The Approximation Of The Shadow Of Truth Vertically Through Time As Well As Longitudinally Through Knowledge.

Gass Once Wrote: "language Serves Not Only To Express Thought But To Make Possible Thoughts Which Could Not Exist Without It." Here Is The Essence Of Mankind's Creative Genius: Not The Edifices Of Civilization Nor The Bang-flash Weapons Which Can End It, But The Words Which Fertilize New Concepts Like Spermatozoa Attacking An Ovum. It Might Be Argued That The Siamese Twin Infants Of Word/idea Are The Only Contribution The Human Species Can, Will, Or Should Make To The Raveling Cosmos.

You Treat Violence As An Aberration ... When In Truth It Is The Norm. It Is The Very Essence Of The Human Condition.