Art, Of Course, Is A Way Of

I Understand That The World Was Nothing: A Mechanical Chaos Of Casual, Brute Enmity On Which We Stupidly Impose Our Hopes And Fears. I Understood That, Finally And Absolutely, I Alone Exist. All The Rest, I Saw, Is Merely What Pushes Me, Or What I Push Against, Blindly - As Blindly As All That Is Not Myself Pushes Back. I Create The Whole Universe, Blink By Blink.

When People Are Serving, Life Is No Longer Meaningless.

As A Rule Of Thumb I Say, If Socrates, Jesus And Tolstoy Wouldn't Do It, Don't.

We Know That Where Community Exists In Confers Upon Its Members Identity, A Sense Of Belonging, And A Measure Of Security. . . . Communities Are The Ground-level Generators And Preservers Of Values And Ethical Systems.

I Couldn't Go On, Too Conscious All At Once Of My Whispering, My Eternal Posturing, Always Transforming The World With Words--changing Nothing.