The Raw Materials Of Reality Without The

Along The Western Slopes Of The Oregon Coastal Range . . . Come Look: The Hysterical Crashing Of Tributaries As They Merge Into The Wakonda Auga River . . .

The Grateful Dead Are Our Religion. This Is A Religion That Doesn't Pay Homage To The God That All The Other Religions Pay Homage To.

Then The Trembling Starts To Get Worse. This Must Be How They Begin, He Thinks. Freak-outs. Breakdowns. Crack-ups. Eventually Shut-ins And Finally Cross-offs. But First The Cover-up . . .

If This Glorious Birth To Death Hassle Is The Only Hassle We Are Ever To Have ..if Our Grand Exhilarating Fight Of Life Is Such A Tragically Short Little Scrap Anyway,compared To The Eons Of Rounds Before And After-then Why Should One Want To Relinquish Even A Few Precious Seconds Of It?

Truth Doesn't Run On Time Like A Commuter Train.