We Mark Some Days As

Or Maybe It Is Only That We Are So Habitually Inattentive That When Some Rare But Simple Geometry Grabs Us By The Shoulders And Shakes Us Into Consciousness, We Call Our Response Sacred.

When Everything Is Immediately Available And Infinitely Reproducible, Nothing Is Valuable.

Disease Is Nature's Revenge For Our Destructiveness.

From My Childhood, I Remember A Tiny Old Woman Named Mary, Made Pale And Almost Translucent By Time. Mary's Childhood Memories Extended Back To The Confusing And Violent Finale Of The Civil War, And She Told Stories Of Brutal Murders In Those Days And Refused To Name Some Of The Killers, As If Dead Men Might Still Be Prosecuted In The Late 1950s.

Contentment Is Mostly A Matter Of Talking Yourself Into Believing That God Will Not Strike You Too Hard For Leaning In The Direction Of Your Hungers.