Humankind Can't Stand Too Much Reality.

Sand. Everywhere. In The Bed, In The Shower, All Over The Floor. Grrrrr.

Every End Is A Beginning...and Every Beginning Is An End.

The Historical Sense Involves A Perception, Not Only Of The Pastness Of The Past, But Of Its Presence

At The Violet Hour, When The Eyes And Back Turn Upward From The Desk, When The Human Engine Waits Like A Taxi Throbbing Waiting I Tiresias, Though Blind, Throbbing Between Two Lives.

There Is One Who Remembers The Way To Your Door: Life You May Evade, But Death You Shall Not.