And One's Wandering Proved As Sterile And

Even In The Depths Of Sleep, In Which He Had To Satisfy His Need For Protection And Love By Curling Himself Up Into A Trembling Ball, He Could Not Rid Himself Of The Feeling Of Loneliness And Homelessness.

Man Was Entering Under False Pretenses The Sphere Of Incredible Facilities, Acquired Too Cheaply, Below Cost Price, Almost For Nothing, And The Disproportion Between Outlay And Gain, The Obvious Fraud On Nature, The Excessive Payment For A Trick Of Genius, Had To Be Offset By Self-parody.

As We Manipulate Everyday Words, We Forget That They Are Fragments Of Ancient And Eternal Stories, That We Are Building Our Houses With Broken Pieces Of Sculptures And Ruined Statues Of Gods As The Barbarians Did.

There Are Things Than Cannot Ever Occur With Any Precision. They Are Too Big And Too Magnificent To Be Contained In Mere Facts. They Are Merely Trying To Occur, They Are Checking Whether The Ground Of Reality Can Carry Them. And They Quickly Withdraw, Fearing To Loose Their Integrity In The Frailty Of Realization.

Yet What Is To Be Done With Events That Have No Place Of Their Own In Time; Events That Have Occurred Too Late, After The Whole Of Time Has Been Distributed, Divided, And Allotted; Events That Have Been Left In The Cold, Unregistered, Hanging In The Air, Homeless, And Errant?