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Reflections at night when the dark is good and we see farther. A short meditation.
"A silent conjunction between what one thinks and what has been thought."


Brief Tales on a Whim.
There is nothing more pitiful than the storyteller without his stories.


Meditations on the 60th Anniversary of Hiroshima What would the end of the world entail? Do we boast that we can imagine such a thing?


3 short stories. $3


In the apprenticeship period hopes are high.
"But then, who will save us from our own crimes?"


The manuscripts are under $8.


"Resentment had taught him the fine art of discrimination based on shared values, without which there was nothing but angry tribes."

"And angry tribes can destroy values as easily as they can set fire to police cars."

"Torch the poet, he describes police cars!"

"Cut it all down, it is a small branch growing on the corrupt tree!"

"They need to know that the discovery of the shadow is the first step in a long journey."

"The first step!"

"Warning! Understand the shadow, don't become the shadow!"

From the vistas he knew that the world was large and contained "multitudes." And the multitudes, with their multiple lives interact a multiplicity of ways. "My goddamn brain hurts." "Live," the old woman told him in the kitchen, "in front of you, not in wide circumferences. The circumferences are merely for added information so you may live well in front of you."

He couldn't answer her. She had a point. But he had reduced the scope of his knowing to a certain area of longitude and latitude. And yes, every year there was a sulpheric pile of things and odd people. "My things, my people, no?" Maybe not. But yes, he had family ties with them all and had studied local predictability and knew that patterns were iterative, in fact, he happened to live in a much more spontaneous place than the vast regions of the world so it was far easier to grasp the predictable nature of "those on the otherwise of the mountains."

He could not identify with the natural systems of the planet but he saluted their superiority and hoped they would not give out before he did. Where would it stop? If one identified with the natural systems they would have to venture far out into the natural processes of the universe and eventually would become nothing but string or mass. Their sense of time and space would put them at odds with everyone they came into contact with; would perhaps create way too much trouble than it was worth. No, identity along those lines had consequence.

"But you live here, in the Hut," she told him. "What else do you need?"

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