The Horror Of Our History Has Purged

Everyone Is Necessarily The Hero Of His Own Life Story.

Is Man A Savage At Heart, Skinned O'er With Fragile Manners? Or Is Savagery But A Faint Taint In The Natural Man's Gentility, Which Erupts Now And Again Like Pimples On An Angel's Arse?

To Turn Experience Into Speech - That Is, To Classify, To Categorize, To Conceptualize, To Grammarize, To Syntactify It - Is Always A Betrayal Of Experience, A Falsification Of It; But Only So Betrayed Can It Be Dealt With At All, And Only In So Dealing With It Did I Ever Feel A Man, Alive And Kicking.

Yet Everyone Begins In The Same Place; How Is It That Most Go Along Without Difficulty But A Few Lose Their Way?

Somewhere In The World There Was A Young Woman With Such Splendid Understanding That She'd See Him Entire, Like A Poem Or Story, And Find His Words So Valuable After All That When He Confessed His Apprehensions She Would Explain Why They Were In Fact The Very Things That Made Him Precious To Her...and To Western Civilization! There Was No Such Girl, The Simple Truth Being.