... Too Much Brooding, Not Enough Doing.

I Write Against Violence. I Write Against Fascism. I Write Against One Person Dominating Another.

They Waited. The Door Did Not Open. The Rain Did Not Stop. The Darkness Made A Tent And Covered Them Completely.

Everyone Who’s Born Has Come From The Sea. Your Mother’s Womb Is Just A Sea In Small. And Birds Come Of Seas On Eggs. Horses Lie In The Sea Before They’re Born. The Placenta Is The Sea. Your Blood Is The Sea Continued In Your Veins. We Are The Ocean — Walking On The Land.

Think Of Any Great Man Or Woman. How Can You Separate Them From The Years In Which They Lived? You Can't. Their Greatness Lies In Their Response To That Moment.

All Of This Happened A Long Time Ago. But Not So Long Ago That Everyone Who Played A Part In It Is Dead. Some Can Still Be Met In Dark Old Rooms With Nurses In Attendance.