I Believe That A Man Should Be...

To Hell With Facts! We Need Stories.

What The Chronics Are - Or Most Of Us - Are Machines With Flaws Inside That Can't Be Repaired, Flaws Born In, Or Flaws Beat In Over So Many Years Of The Guy Running Head-on Into Solid Things That By The Time The Hospital Found Him He Was Bleeding Rust In Some Vacant Lot.

A Sound Of Cornered-animal Fear And Hate And Surrender And Defiance . . . Like The Last Sound The Treed And Shot And Falling Animal Makes As The Dogs Get Him, When He Finally Doesn't Care About Anything But Himself And His Dying.

To Be Just Without Being Mad (and The Madder You Get The Madder You Get), To Be Peaceful Without Being Stupid, To Be Interested Without Being Compulsive, To Be Happy Without Being Hysterical... Smoke Grass.

He Who Marches Out Of Step Hears Another Drum