Reality, Whether Approached Imaginatively Or Empirically, Remains

The Sun Shone, Having No Alternative, On The Nothing New.

Nothing Is More Real Than Nothing.

Personally I Have No Bone To Pick With Graveyards, I Take The Air There Willingly, Perhaps More Willingly Than Elsewhere, When Take The Air I Must.

James Joyce Was A Synthesizer, Trying To Bring In As Much As He Could. I Am An Analyzer, Trying To Leave Out As Much As I Can.

In The Landscape Of Extinction, Precision Is Next To Godliness.