Nothing Is Worse Than What We Can

I See No Marks Of Wordsworths Style Of Writing Or Style Of Thinking In My Own Work, Yet Wordsworth Is A Constant Presence When I Write About Human Beings And Their Relations To The Natural World.

One Thought Alone Preoccupies The Submerged Mind Of Empire: How Not To End, How Not To Die, How To Prolong Its Era. By Day It Pursues Its Enemies. It Is Cunning And Ruthless, It Sends Its Bloodhounds Everywhere. By Night It Feeds On Images Of Disaster: The Sack Of Cities, The Rape Of Populations, Pyramids Of Bones, Acres Of Desolation.

Pleasure Is Hard To Come By, But Pain Is Everywhere These Days, I Must Learn To Subsist On It.

The Gods, The Immortals, Were The Inventors Of Death And Corruption; Yet With One Or Two Notable Exceptions They Have Lacked The Courage To Try Their Invention Out On Themselves.

Nothing Is Worse Than What We Can Imagine.