Narrative Becomes The Way You

The Ornament Of Beauty, Shakespeare Wrote, Is Suspect. And He Was Right. But Beauty Itself, Unadorned And Unaffected, Is Sacred, I Think, Worthy Of Our Awe And Our Loyalty.

He Wondered If This Was What Clinical Depression Felt Like, A Total Numbness, A Weary Lack Of Hope.

Chuck Said, “hey. How Many Surrealists Does It Take To Screw In A Lightbulb?” Cawley Looked Over At Him. “i’ll Bite. How Many?” “fish,” Chuck Said And Let Loose A Bright Bark Of A Laugh.

If You Are Deemed Insane, Then All Actions That Would Oherwise Prove You Are Not Do, In Actuality, Fall Into The Framework Of An Insane Person’s Actions. Your Sound Protests Constitute Denial. Your Valid Fears Are Deemed Paranoia. Your Survival Instincts Are Labeled Defense Mechanisms. It’s A No-win Situation. It’s A Death Penalty Really.

L.a. Burns, And So Many Other Cities Smolder, Waiting For The Hose That Will Flood Gasoline Over The Coals, And We Listen To Politicians Who Fuel Our Hate And Our Narrow Views And Tell Us It's Simply A Matter Of Getting Back To Basics While They Sit In Their Beachfront Properties And Listen To The Surf So They Won't Have To Hear The Screams Of The Drowning.