The End Of Confession Is To Tell

...the Program Of Scientific Experimentation That Leads You To Conclude That Animals Are Imbeciles Is Profoundly Anthropocentric. It Values Being Able To Find Your Way Out Of A Sterile Maze, Ignoring The Fact That If The Researcher Who Designed The Maze Were To Be Parachuted Into The Jungles Of Borneo, He Or She Would Be Dead Of Starvation In A Week...if I As A Human Being Were Told That The Standards By Which Animals Are Being Measured In These Experiments Are Human Standards, I Would Be Insulted.

His Mouth Opens. From Inside Him Comes A Slow Stream, Without Breath, Without Interruption. It Flows Up Through His Body And Out Upon Me; It Passes Through The Cabin, Through The Wreck; Washing The Cliffs And Shores Of The Island, It Runs Northward And Southward To The Ends Of The Earth. Soft And Cold, Dark And Unending, It Beats Against My Eyelids, Against The Skin Of My Face.

I Know Somewhat Too Much; And From This Knowledge, Once One Has Been Infected, There Seems To Be No Recovering.

That Was Our First Time Together. Interesting, An Interesting Experience, But Not Earth-shaking. But Then, I Never Expected It To Be Earth-shaking, Not With Him. What I Was Determined To Avoid Was Emotional Entanglement. A Passing Fling Was One Thing, An Affair Of The Heart Quite Another. Of Myself I Was Fairly Sure. I Was Not About To Lose My Heart To A Man About Whom I Knew Next To Nothing.

His Own Opinion, Which He Does Not Air, Is That The Origin Of Speech Lie In Song, And The Origins Of Song In The Need To Fill Out With Sound The Overlarge And Rather Empty Human Soul.