Occasionally People Ask Me How It Is

We Are The Nation Of Dreams. We Are Seers. We Are Wizards. We Speak In Visions. Our Letters Are Like Flocks Of Doves, Released From Under Our Hats. We Have Only To Stretch Out Our Hand And Desire, And What We Wish For Settles Like A Kerchief In Our Palm. We Are A Race Of Sorcerers, Enchanters. We Are Atlantis. We Are The Wizard-isle Of Mu.

My Idea Of Life, It's What Happens When They're Rolling The Credits.

I Feel Like It's Important Every Once In A While To Estrange Ourselves From The Familiar To Remind Ourselves Of The Potentialities Of People, How Many Different Ways There Are Of Being.

It’s The End. It’s The End Of The Civilization. We’re Going Down. No, It’s Sure Not Too Attractive. Lenticels. I Just Hope My Kids Don’t Live To See The Last Days. The Things Burning And People Living In Cellars. Violet. The Only Thing Worse Than The Thought It May All Come Tumbling Down Is The Thought That We May Go On Like This Forever.

Empedolces Claims That In Utero, Our Backbone Is One Long Solid; And That Through The Constriction Of The Womb And The Punishments Of Birth It Must Be Snapped Again And Again To Form Our Vertebrae; That For The Child To Have A Spine, His Back Must First Be Broken