Ills Are Many, Blessings Few, But Dreams

Time Is Never Wasted If You Remember To Bring Along Something To Read.

Murphy's Law, That Brash Proletarian Restatement Of Godel's Theorem.

He Gazes Through Sunlight's Buttresses, Back Down The Refectory At The Others, Wallowing In Their Plenitude Of Bananas, Thick Palatals Of Their Hunger Lost Somewhere In The Stretch Of Morning Between Them And Himself. A Hundred Miles Of It, So Suddenly. Solitude, Even Among The Meshes Of This War, Can When It Wishes So Take Him By The Blind Gut And Touch, As Now, Possessively. Pirate's Again Some Other Side Of A Window, Watching Strangers Eat Breakfast.

Not Me, Paranoia's The Garlic In Life's Kitchen, Right, You Can Never Have Too Much.

To Have Humanism We Must First Be Convinced Of Our Humanity. As We Move Further Into Decadence This Becomes More Difficult.