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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.


I felt as though there were monsters around. Logically I knew that wasn't the case but the fear was still large. Monsters that were human but so dead and cynical my hair would rise up and chills would go up and down my skin. Monsters of the eyes. Monsters of speech. And they were sailing along right beside me like some dream-ghoul with leering smiles showing me they were so much more powerful than I was and they represented reality itself while I was just a fart in the wind.

* * * * * * * *

There were streaks of brilliant light and inside the light I saw the minds of many I had known. I finally knew them as I hadn't known them on Earth. They were toying with greatness or else afraid of their own shadows and plotting ways to blame it on someone else, some scapegoat they had picked long ago. It was primitive and I laughed but I understood more than a few expressions I had made, spontaneously while on the Earth. Long razor thin fragments of light burning white

"So tell me, a humble man, why I am allowed to see this?"

There was a contemptuous silence.

It was all in me all the time and I didn't have the patience to let it out slow like pouring a good molasses from a jar. Every last bit was there random and challenging, careening so I would get a glimpse and then it would vanish and a larger bit would come in and this went on for a long time. It was all in me I knew it now. I saw and heard indivisibility. And when I was full I felt I was no longer necessary.

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