When You Are Crazy You Learn To

This, To Me, Is The Ultimately Heroic Trait Of Ordinary People; They Say No To The Tyrant And They Calmly Take The Consequences Of This Resistance.

Then It Is In Me, Too, The Psychotic Streak. A Psychotic World We Live In. The Madmen Are In Power. How Long Have We Known This? Faced This? And-how Many Of Us Do Know It? ... Perhaps If You Know You Are Insane Then You Are Not Insane. Or You Are Becoming Sane, Finally. Waking Up. I Suppose Only A Few Are Aware Of All This. Isolated Persons Here And There. But The Broad Masses-what Do They Think? All These Hundreds Of Thousands In This City, Here. Do They Imagine That They Live In A Sane World? Or Do They Guess, Glimpse, The Truth...?

It Did Not Seem Possible That Wendy Wright Had Been Born Out Of Blood And Internal Organs Like Other People. In Proximity To Her He Felt Himself To Be A Squat, Oily, Sweating, Uneducated Nurt Whose Stomach Rattled And Whose Breath Wheezed. Near Her He Became Aware Of The Physical Mechanisms Which Kept Him Alive; Within Him Machinery, Pipes And Valves And Gas-compressors And Fan Belts Had To Chug Away At A Losing Task, A Labor Ultimately Doomed. Seeing Her Face, He Discovered That His Own Consisted Of A Garish Mask; Noticing Her Body Made Him Feel Like A Low-class Wind-up Toy.

I'm A Strange Person. Sometimes I Hardly Know What I'm Going To Do Or Say Next. Sometimes I Seem A Stranger To Myself. Sometimes What I Do Surprises Me And I Can't Understand Why I Do It.

Are We To Assist It In Gaining Power In Order To Save Our Lives? Is That The Paradox Of Our Earthly Situation?