I Read And I Read; And I

I Knew Words Were Like Chains, They Held Me Back . . . The Act Of Description Taints The Description.

It Was Too Exactly As Imagined To Be True. But I Felt As Gladly And Expectantly Disorientated, As Happily And Alertly Alone, As Alice In Wonderland.

No Amount Of Reading And Intelligent Deduction Could Supplant The Direct Experience.

It's Despair At The Lack Of Feeling, Of Love, Of Reason In The World. It's Despair That Anyone Can Even Contemplate The Idea Of Dropping A Bomb Or Ordering That It Should Be Dropped. It's Despair That So Few Of Us Care. It's Despair That There's So Much Brutality And Callousness In The World. It's Despair That Perfectly Normal Young Men Can Be Made Vicious And Evil Because They've Won A Lot Of Money. And Then Do What You've Done To Me.

Ask Me To Marry You." "will You Marry Me?" "no.