War Must Never Be A Condition But,

The Future Is Like Smoke From A Burning Forest, Waiting For The Wind Of Specific Events And Personal Courage To Blow The Sparks And Embers Of Reality This Way Or That.

She Had Always Felt That The Essence Of Human Experience Lay Not Primarily In The Peak Experiences, The Wedding Days And Triumphs Which Stood Out In The Memory Like Dates Circled In Red On Old Calendars, But, Rather, In The Unself-conscious Flow Of Little Things - The Weekend Afternoon With Each Member Of The Family Engaged In His Or Her Own Pursuit, Their Crossings And Connections Casual, Dialogues Imminently Forgettable, But The Sum Of Such Hours Creating A Synergy Which Was Important And Eternal.

In Twentieth-century Old Earth, A Fast Food Chain Took Dead Cow Meat, Fried It In Grease, Added Carcinogens, Wrapped It In Petroleum-based Foam, And Sold Nine Hundred Billion Units. Human Beings. Go Figure.

The Powerful Have Received Their Share Of The World's Attention Even When Their Power Has Been Shown As Sheer Evil. The Victim's Remain The Faceless Masses. Numbers. Mass Graves. These Monsters Have Fertilized Our Century With The Mass Graves Of Their Victims And It Is Time That The Powerless Had Names And Faces -- And Voices.

Writing, Im Convinced, Should Be A Subversive Activity - Frowned On By The Authorities - And Not One Cooed Over And Praised Beyond Common Sense By Some Teacher.