A Man With A Club Is A

They Were Firemakers! They Were Gods! [humans]

He Was A Killer, A Thing That Preyed, Living On The Things That Lived, Unaided, Alone, By Virtue Of His Own Strength And Prowess, Surviving Triumphantly In A Hostile Environment Where Only The Strong Survive.

Pursuit And Possession Are Accompanied By States Of Consciousness So Wide Apart That They Can Never Be United.

There Are, Broadly Speaking, Two Types Of Drinkers. There Is The Man Whom We All Know, Stupid, Unimaginative, Whose Brain Is Bitten Numbly By Numb Maggots; Who Walks Generously With Wide-spread, Tentative Legs, Falls Frequently In The Gutter, And Who Sees, In The Extremity Of His Ecstasy, Blue Mice And Pink Elephants.... The Other Type Of Drinker Has Imagination, Vision. Even When Most Pleasantly Jingled He Walks Straight And Naturally, Never Staggers Nor Falls, And Knows Just Where He Is And What He Is Doing. It Is Not His Body But His Brain That Is Drunken.

As For Me, You Wonder Why I Am A Socialist. I'll Tell You. It Is Because Socialism Is Inevitable; Because The Present Rotten And Irrational System Cannot Endure; Because The Day Is Past For Your Man On Horseback. The Slaves Won't Stand For It. They Are Too Many, And Willy-nilly They'll Drag Down The Would-be Equestrian Before He Gets Astride. You Can't Get Away From Them, And You'll Have To Swallow The Whole Slave-morality. It's Not A Nice Mess, I'll Allow. But It's Been A-brewing And Swallow It You Must.