Nature Is An Experimenter.

Imagination Is Like A Muscle. I Found Out That The More I Wrote, The Bigger It Got.

There Are Universes Begging For Gods, Yet He Hangs Around This One Looking For Work.

The Truth Is That Trout, Like Vonnegut And Ray Bradbury And Many Others, Writes Parables. These Are Set In Frames Which Have Become Called, For No Good Reason, Science Fiction. A Better Generic Term Would Be 'future Fairy Tales'. And Even This Is Objectionable, Since Many Science Fiction Stories Take Place In The Present Or The Past, Far And Near.

It Was The Essence Of Life To Disbelieve In Death For One's Self, To Act As If Life Would Continue Forever. And Life Had To Act Also As If Little Issues Were Big Ones. To Take A Realistic Attitude Toward Life And Death Meant That One Lapsed Into Unreality. Into Insanity. It Was Ironic That The Only Way To Keep One's Sanity Was To Ignore That One Was In An Insane World Or To Act As If The World Were Sane.

It's A Peculiarity Of The Norwegian Culture And Of The English And American, Too, That Men Are Not Supposed To Cry. Stiff Upper Lip And All That. But The Vikings Cried Like Women In Public Or Privately. They Soaked Their Beards With Tears And Were Not One Bit Ashamed About It. Yet, They Were As Quick To Draw Their Swords As They Were To Shed Tears. So, What's All This Crap About Men Having To Hold In Their Sorrow And Grief And Disappointment?