While Time, The Endless Idiot, Runs Screaming

But The Hearts Of Small Children Are Delicate Organs. A Cruel Beginning In This World Can Twist Them Into Curious Shapes. The Heart Of A Hurt Child Can Shrink So That Forever Afterward It Is Hard And Pitted As The Seed Of A Peach. Or Again, The Heart Of Such A Child May Fester And Swell Until It Is A Misery To Carry Within The Body, Easily Chafed And Hurt By The Most Ordinary Things.

In The Face Of Brutality I Was Prudent. Before Injustice I Held My Peace. I Sacrificed The Things In Hand For The Good Of The Hypothetical Whole. I Believed In The Tongue Instead Of The Fist. As An Armor Against Oppression I Taught Patience And Faith In The Human Soul. I Know Now How Wrong I Was. I Have Been A Traitor To Myself And To My People. All That Is Rot.

For In A Swift Radiance Of Illumination He Saw A Glimpse Of Human Struggle And Valor. Of The Endless Fluid Passage Of The Humanity Through Endless Time. And Of Those Who Labor And Of Those Who - One Word- Love. His Soul Expanded. But For A Moment Only. For In Him, He Felt A Warning, A Shaft Of Terror.

The World Is Certainty A Sudden Place.

The Seed Of The Idea Is Developed By Both Labor And The Unconscious, And The Struggle That Goes On Between Them.