Without The Possibility Of Action, All Knowledge

I Suddenly Recall The Arpeggios Of Laughter Lilting Across The Tender, Springtime Grass-gay-welling, Far-floating, Fluent, Spontaneous, A Bell-like Feminine Fluting, Then Suppressed; As Though Snuffed Swiftly And Irrevocably Beneath The Quiet Solemnity Of The Vespered Air Now Vibrant With Somber Chapel Bells.

If Social Protest Is Antithetical To Art, What Then Shall We Make Of Goya, Dickens, And Twain?

The Clock Ticked With Empty Urgency, As Though Trying To Catch Up With The Time. In The Street A Siren Howled.

Power Doesn't Have To Show Off. Power Is Confident, Self-assuring, Self-starting And Self-stopping, Self-warming And Self-justifying. When You Have It, You Know It.

Life Is To Be Lived, Not Controlled, And Humanity Is Won By Continuing To Play In Face Of Certain Defeat.