Few Books Today Are Forgivable.

From The Alienated Starting Point Of Our Pseudo-sanity, Everything Is Equivocal. Our Sanity Is Not "true" Sanity. Their Madness Is Not "true" Madness. The Madness Of Our Patients Is An Artifact Of The Destruction Wreaked On Them By Us, And By Them On Themselves.

Long Before A Thermonuclear War Can Come About, We Have Had To Lay Waste Our Own Sanity. We Begin With The Children. It Is Imperative To Catch Them In Time. Without The Most Thorough And Rapid Brainwashing Their Dirty Minds Would See Through Our Dirty Tricks. Children Are Not Yet Fools, But We Shall Turn Them Into Imbeciles Like Ourselves, With High I.q.s If Possible.

Conventions Are Convenient. It Is Inconvenient To Say People Are Dead When They Are Alive, Or Alive When They Have Been Buried, Or That The World Is Crumbling When It Is, As Everyone Can See, There As Usual. If All A That Does Not Fit B Is Ipso Facto Disqualified, We Have To Tailor A To Shape And Size To Avoid Serious Trouble, And Not All Are Equally Gifted In This Art.

We Are Bemused And Crazed Creatures, Strangers To Our True Selves, To One Another, And To The Spiritual And Material World - Mad, Even, From An Ideal Standpoint We Can Glimpse But Not Adopt.

From The Moment Of Birth, When The Stone-age Baby Confronts The Twentieth-century Mother, The Baby Is Subjected To These Forces Of Violence Called Love, As Its Father And Mother And Their Parents And Their Parents Before Them, Have Been. These Forces Are Mainly Concerned With Destroying Most Of Its Potential.