The Plan Is Not What You Think.

Each One Of Us Is A Statistical Impossibility Around Which Hover A Million Other Lives That Were Never Destined To Be Born.

I Once Saw, On A Flower Pot In My Own Living Room, The Efforts Of A Field Mouse To Build A Remembered Field. I Have Lived To See This Episode Repeated In A Thousand Guises, And Since I Have Spent A Large Portion Of My Life In The Shade Of A Nonexistent Tree I Think I Am Entitled To Speak For The Field Mouse.

I No Longer Cared About Survival...i Merely Loved.

Though Men In The Mass Forget The Origins Of Their Need, They Still Bring Wolfhounds Into City Apartments, Where Dog And Man Both Sit Brooding In Wistful Discomfort. The Magic That Gleams An Instant Between Argos And Odysseus Is Both The Recognition Of Diversity And The Need For Affection Across The Illusions Of Form. It Is Nature's Cry To Homeless, Far-wandering, Insatiable Man: "do Not Forget Your Brethren, Nor The Green Wood From Which You Sprang. To Do So Is To Invite Disaster.

I Love Forms Beyond My Own, And Regret The Borders Between Us