But We Can't Go Back. We Can

We Sit And Listen And Are Enthralled Anew, For Good Stories, It Seems, Never Lose Their Magic.

War." Gorgon Spits The Word. "that Is What They Call It To Give The Illusion Of Honor And Law. It Is Chaos. Madness And Blood And The Hunger To Win. It Has Always Been Thus And Shall Always Be So.

The Vicar, Whose Name Is Reverend Waite, Leads Us In Prayers That All Begin With 'o Lord' And End With Our Somehow Not Being Worthy-sinners Who Have Always Been Sinners And Will Forever More Be Sinners Until We Die. It Isn't The Most Optimistic Outlook I've Ever Heard But We're Encouraged To Keep Trying Anyway.

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.

Nobody Wants To Be Themselves. That's Why There's Tv. -ephigenia.