I'm Very Militant, You Know, In A

Sometimes Awful Things Have Their Own Beauty.

In The Eternal Lazy Morning Of The Pacific, Days Slip Away Into Months, Months Into Years; The Seasons Are Reduced To The Faintest Nuance By The Great Central Fact Of The Sunshine; One Might Pass A Lifetime, It Seems, Between Two Yawns, Lying Bronzed And Naked In The Sand.

George Smiles To Himself, With Entire Self-satisfaction. Yes, I Am Crazy, He Thinks. That Is My Secret; My Strength.

The More I Think About Myself, The More I'm Persuaded That, As A Person, I Really Don't Exist. That Is One Of The Reasons Why I Can't Believe In Any Orthodox Religion: I Cannot Believe In My Own Soul. No, I Am A Chemical Compound, Conditioned By Environment And Education. My "character" Is Simply A Repertoire Of Acquired Tricks, My Conversation A Repertoire Of Adaptations And Echoes, My "feelings" Are Dictated By Purely Physical, External Stimuli.

What It Sees There Isn't So Much A Face As The Expression Of A Predicament.