Power Expands Through The Distribution Of Secrecy.

Unfortunately It Is The Weak Who Destroy The Strong.

For All The Flailing And Huffing And Puffing, There Is A Kind Of Fatality About The Process Of War-making And The Excuses We Find For It, The Consolation Of Belligerence In Politics.

Our Power Knows No Limits, Yet We Cannot Find Food For A Starving Child, Or A Home For A Refugee. Our Knowledge Is Without Measure And We Build The Weapons That Will Destroy Us. We Live On The Edge Of Ourselves, Terrified Of The Darkness Within. We Have Harmed, Corrupted And Ruined, We Have Made Mistakes And Deceived.

America Has Entered One Of Its Periods Of Historical Madness, But This Is The Worst I Can Remember: Worse Than Mccarthyism, Worse Than The Bay Of Pigs And In The Long Term Potentially More Disastrous Than The Vietnam War.

Remember Graham Green's Dictum That Childhood Is The Bank Balance Of The Writer? I Think That All Writers Feel Alienated. Most Of Us Go Back To An Alienated Childhood In Some Way Or Another. I Know That I Do.