Justice Came From A Fight Amid Complexities,

I Saw How Greatly He Suffered The Requirement Of Being Clever. It Separated Him From His Soul, And It Didn't Get Him Anything Other Than A Living

All Rivers Run Full To The Sea; Those Who Are Apart Are Brought Together; The Lost Ones Are Redeemed; The Dead Come Back To Life; The Perfectly Blue Days That Have Begun And Ended In Golden Dimness Continue, Immobile And Accessible; And, When All Is Perceived In Such A Way As To Obviate Time, Justice Becomes Apparent Not As Something That Will Be, But Something That Is.

There Is Justice In The World, Peter Lake, But It Cannot Be Had Without Mystery.

Perhaps Passing Through The Gates Of Death Is Like Passing Quietly Through The Gate In A Pasture Fence. On The Other Side, You Keep Walking, Without The Need To Look Back. No Shock, No Drama, Just The Lifting Of A Plank Or Two In A Simple Wooden Gate In A Clearing. Neither Pain, Nor Floods Of Light, Nor Great Voices, But Just The Silent Crossing Of A Meadow.

Not Born To Be Rich, By 1981 I Had Nonetheless Begun To Use A Pc That Required For Its Operation The Absorption Of Several Hundred Pages Of Protocols And The Placement Of Very Large Floppy Disks In The Freezer To Fix Frequent Crashes.