Something In Her Brain That Still Remained

The Feeling Of Sunday Is The Same Everywhere, Heavy, Melancholy, Standing Still.

Before I Could Read, Almost A Baby, I Imagined That God, This Strange Thing Or Person I Heard About, Was A Book.

After All This, What Happened? What Happened Was That, As Soon As I Had The Slightest Chance Of A Place To Hide In, I Crept Into It And Hid. Well, Sometimes It's A Fine Day Isn't It? Sometimes The Skies Are Blue. Sometimes The Air Is Light, Easy To Breathe. And There Is Always Tomorrow.

I Think That The Desire To Be Cruel And To Hurt (with Words Because Any Other Way Might Be Dangerous To Ourself) Is Part Of Human Nature. Parties Are Battles (most Parties), A Conversation Is A Duel (often). Everybody's Trying To Hurt First, To Get In The Dig That Will Make Him Or Her Feel Superior, Feel Triumph.

As It Was In The Beginning, ... Is Now, And Ever Shall Be, World Without End.