Every Age Has A Keyhole To Which

If You Talked Or Laughed In Church, Told Lies, Had Impure Thoughts Or Conversations, You Were Bad; If You Obeyed Your Parents Or Guardians, Went To Confession And Communion Regularly, Said Prayers For The Dead, You Were Good.

Liberty, As It Is Conceived By Current Opinion, Has Nothing Inherent About It; It Is A Sort Of Gift Or Trust Bestowed On The Individual By The State Pending Good Behavior.

The Breakdown Of Our Language, Evident In The Misuse, I.e., The Misunderstanding Of Nouns And Adjectives, Is Most Grave, Though Perhaps Not So Conspicuous, In The Handling Of Prepositions, Those Modest Little Connectives That Hold The Parts Of A Phrase Or A Sentence Together. They Are The Joints Of Any Language, What Make It, Literally, Articulate.

It Has To Be Acknowledged That In Capitalist Society, With Its Herds Of Hippies, Originality Has Become A Sort Of Fringe Benefit, A Mere Convention, Accepted Obsolescence, The Beatnik Model Being Turned In For The Hippie Model, As Though Strangely Obedient To Capitalist Laws Of Marketing.

Laughter Is The Great Antidote For Self-pity, Maybe A Specific For The Malady, Yet Probably It Does Tend To Dry One's Feelings Out A Little, As If By Exposing Them To A Vigorous Wind.