It's Only ... When We're Stripped Of

It Is A Magic Book. Words Mean Things. When You Put Them Together They Speak. Yes, Sometimes They Flatten Out And Nothing They Say Is Real, And That Is One Kind Of Magic. But Sometimes A Vision Will Rip Up From Them And Shriek And Clank Wings Clear As The Sweat Smudge On The Paper Under Your Thumb. And That Is Another Kind.

You Meet A New Person, You Go With Him And Suddenly You Get A Whole New City...you Go Down New Streets, You See Houses You Never Saw Before, Pass Places You Didn't Even Know Were There. Everything Changes.

Discourse Says, 'you Are.' Rhetoric Preserves The Freedom To Say, 'i Am Not.

The Pulp Hero, Though He May Be A Renegade, Is A Guy Who Doesn't Feel. Anything. Ever. And For The Adolescent Male - Pummeled By Emotions Left And Right, Whether Arising From Sexuality Or Resulting From His Necessary Encounters With Authority - This Hero Is A Blessing, A Relief And A Release. The World He Lives In, Where Feelings Are Totally Under Control, Looks To The Adolescent Boy Like Heaven! This Hero's Lack Of Feeling - Like Star Trek's Spock - Is What Allows Him To Be A Genius, Or Allows Him To Shoot The Bad Guys And/or Aliens, Without A Quiver To His Lip.

Human Beings Being What They Are, Order Spreads, Given Half A Chance, Almost As Fast As Confusion.