Life Is A Publicity Stunt. A Shill.

You May Well Ask How I Expect To Assert My Privacy By Resorting To The Outrageous Publicity Of Being One's Actual Self On Paper. There's A Possibility Of It Working If One Chooses The Terms, To Wit: Outshouting Image-gimmick America Through A Quietly Desperate Search For Self.

A Revolution Is Not The Overturning Of A Cart, A Reshuffling In The Cards Of State. It Is A Process, A Swelling, A New Growth In The Race. If It Is Real, Not Simply A Trauma, It Is Another Ring In The Tree Of History, Layer Upon Layer Of Invisible Tissue Composing The Evidence Of A Circle.

With The First Act Of Cruelty Committed In The Name Of Revolution, With The First Murder, With The First Purge And Execution, We Have Lost The Revolution.

The Rationale Which Accompanies That Imposition Of Male Authority Euphemistically Referred To As 'the Battle Of The Sexes' Bears A Certain Resemblance To The Formulas Of Nations At War, Where Any Heinousness Is Justified On The Grounds That The Enemy Is Either An Inferior [part Of The] Species Or Really Not Human At All.

Let Us Stop Being Afraid. Of Our Own Thoughts, Our Own Minds. Of Madness, Our Own Or Others'. Stop Being Afraid Of The Mind Itself, Its Astonishing Functions And Fandangos, Its Complications And Simplifications, The Wonderful Operation Of Its Machinery--more Wonderful Because It Is Not Machinery At All Or Predictable.