Love, Our Subject: We've Trained It Like

If We Had Time And No Money, Living By Our Wits, What Story Would You Tell?

... How Have I Used Rivers, How Have I Used Wars To Escape Writing Of The Worst Thing Of All-- Not The Crimes Of Other, Not Even Our Own Death, But The Failure To Want Our Freedom Passionately Enough So That Blighted Elms, Sick Rivers, Massacres Would Seem Mere Emblems Of That Desecration Of Ourselves?

How We Dwelt In Two Worlds The Daughters And The Mothers In The Kingdom Of The Sons.

False History Gets Made All Day, Any Day, The Truth Of The New Is Never On The News.

There Is No 'the Truth','a Truth' - Truth Is Not One Thing, Or Even A System. It Is An Increasing Complexity. The Pattern Of The Carpet Is A Surface. When We Look Closely, Or When We Become Weavers, We Learn Of The Tiny Multiple Threads Unseen In The Overall Pattern, The Knots On The Underside Of The Carpet