They Think I'm Going To Be A

I Have Always Disliked The Morning, It Is Too Responsible A Time, With The Daylight Demanding That It Be 'faced' And (usually When I Wake For I Wake Late) With The Sun Already Up And In Charge Of The World, With Little Hope Of Anyone Usurping Or Challenging Its Authority. A Shot Of Light In The Face Of A Poor Waking Human Being And Another Slave Limps Wounded Into The Light-occupied Territory.

I Must Go Down To The Seas Again To Find Where I Buried The Hatchet With Yesterday.

People Dread Silence Because It Is Transparent; Like Clear Water, Which Reveals Every Obstacle—the Used, The Dead, The Drowned, Silence Reveals The Cast-off Words And Thoughts Dropped In To Obscure Its Clear Stream. And When People Stare Too Close To Silence They Sometimes Face Their Own Reflections, Their Magnified Shadows In The Depths, And That Frightens Them. I Know; I Know.

The Sun Is All Love And Murder, Judgement, The Perpetual Raid Of Conscience, Paratrooping Light Which Opens Like A Snow-blossom In The Downward Drift Of Death. Wherever I Turn - The Golden Cymbals Of Judgement, The Summoning Of The Torturers Of Light.

[...] A Morass Of Despair Violence Death With A Thin Layer Of Glass Spread Upon The Surface Where Love, A Tiny Crab With Pincers And Rainbow Shell, Walked Delicately Ever Sideways But Getting Nowhere, While The Sun [...] Rose Higher In The Sky Its Tassels Dropping With Flame Threatening Every Moment To Melt The Precarious Highway Of Glass. And The People: Giant Pathworks Of Colour With Limbs Missing And Parts Of Their Mind Snipped Off To Fit Them Into The Outline Of The Free Pattern.