Memory Whispers Someplace In That Jumbled Machinery.

It's Time To Move On To The Next Step In The Psychedelic Revolution. We've Reached A Certain Point, But We're Not Moving Any More.

You Can't Really Be Strong Until You See A Funny Side To Things.

You Can't Blame The President For The State Of The Country, It's Always The Poets' Fault. You Can't Expect Politicians To Come Up With A Vision, They Don't Have It In Them. Poets Have To Come Up With The Vision And They Have To Turn It On So It Sparks And Catches Hold.

All I Know Is This: Nobody's Very Big In The First Place, And It Looks To Me Like Everybody Spends Their Whole Life Tearing Everybody Else Down.

Along The Western Slopes Of The Oregon Coastal Range . . . Come Look: The Hysterical Crashing Of Tributaries As They Merge Into The Wakonda Auga River . . .