We Did Everything Adults Would Do. What

They Accepted The Pleasures Of Morning, The Bright Sun, The Whelming Sea And Sweet Air, As A Time When Play Was Good And Life So Full That Hope Was Not Necessary And Therefore Forgotten.

Childhood Is A Disease - A Sickness That You Grow Out Of.

The Pile Of Guts Was A Black Blob Of Flies That Buzzed Like A Saw. After A While These Flies Found Simon. Gorged, They Alighted By His Runnels Of Sweat And Drank. They Tickled Under His Nostrils And Played Leapfrog On His Thighs. They Were Black And Iridescent Green And Without Number; And In Front Of Simon, The Lord Of The Flies Hung On His Stick And Grinned. At Last Simon Gave Up And Looked Back; Saw The White Teeth And Dim Eyes, The Blood—and His Gaze Was Held By That Ancient, Inescapable Recognition.

Maybe There Is A Beast… Maybe It's Only Us.

We Have A Disharmony In Our Natures. We Cannot Live Together Without Injuring Each Other.