Life Is A Process Of One Goneness

Who Is Alice?" Asked Mother. "alice Is Somebody That Nobody Can See," Said Frances. "and That Is Why She Does Not Have A Birthday. So I Am Singing Happy Thursday To Her." - Frances The Badger

My Generation Was Somewhat Between Things, Neither Free Nor Much Supported By Whatever Held Us In.

An Ordinary Mirror Is Silvered At The Back But The Window Of The Night Train Has Darkness Behind The Glass. My Face And The Faces Of Other Travellers Were Now Mirrored On This Darkness In A Succession Of Stillnesses. Consider This, Said The Darkness: Any Motion At Any Speed Is A Succession Of Stillnesses; Any Section Through An Action Will Show Just Such A Plane Of Stillness As This Dark Window In Which Your Seeking Face Is Mirrored. And In Each Plane Of Stillness Is The Moment Of Clarity That Makes You Responsible For What You Do.

A Map Is The Dead Body Of Where You've Been. A Map Is The Unborn Baby Of Where You're Going. There Are No Maps. Maps Are Pictures Of What Isn't.

Life Is A Process Of One Goneness After Another.