Danger's Over, Banana Breakfast Is Saved.

The Saint Whose Water Can Light Lamps, The Clairvoyant Whose Lapse In Recall Is The Breath Of God, The True Paranoid For Whom All Is Organized In Spheres Joyful Or Threatening About The Central Pulse Of Himself, The Dreamer Whose Puns Probe Ancient Fetid Shafts And Tunnels Of Truth All Act In The Same Special Relevance To The Word, Or Whatever It Is The Word Is There, Buffering, To Protect Us From. The Act Of Metaphor Than Was A Thrust At Truth And A Lie, Depending Where You Were: Inside, Safe Or Outside, Lost.

What Sort Of An Age Is This Where A Man Becomes One's Enemy Only When His Back Is Turned?

Some Typewriters In Whitehall, In The Pentagon, Killed More Civilians Than Our Little A4 Could Have Ever Hoped To.

Someday It'll All Be Done By Machine. Information Machines.

Idle Dreaming Is Often Of The Essence Of What We Do.