All Things Are Possible.

What Kind Of Person Doesn't Let You Have Gummi Bears?

Agent Jones Switched To The Big Screen And A Grainy Video Of Momo Sitting At His Enormous Desk, A Swivel-hipped Elvis Clock Ticking Behind His Bewigged Head. 'death To The Capitalist Pigs! Death To Your Cinnamon Bun-smelling Malls! Death To Your Power Walking And Automatic Car Windows And I'm With Stupid T-shirts! The Republic Of Chacha Will Never Bend To Your Side-of-fries -drive -through-please-oh-would-you-like-ketchup-with-that Corruption! Momo B. Chacha Defies You And All You Stand For, And One Day, You Will Crumble Into The Sea And We Will Pick Up The Pieces And Make Them Into Sand Art.

All Morning, Spence Has Been A Well-oiled Machine Of Activity. Everyone Doing Her Bit, Quietly And Efficiently. It's Strange How Deliberate People Are After A Death. All The Indecision Suddenly Vanishes Into Clear, Defined Moments--changing The Linens, Choosing A Dress Or A Hymn, The Washing Up, The Muttering Of Prayers. All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

Travel Opens Your Mind As Few Other Things Do.

I Feel Like I Swallowed A Magritte. Like On The Inside, I'm Made Of Clouds And Floating Eyes, Green Apples, And Slowly Rising Men In Bowler Hats.