Passing in any crowd are secret people whose hidden response to beauty is the desire to tear it into bleeding meat.

Certainly my inner world will never be a peaceful place of bloom; it will have some peace, and occasional riots of bloom, but always a little fight going on too. There is no way I can be peacefully happy in this society and in this skin. I am committed to Uneasy Street. I like it; it is my idea that this street leads to the future, and that I am being true to a way of life which is not here yet, but is more real than what is here.

And here is our girl, looking-- If possible, worse than before. (You thought this was Cinderella transistorized?)

I am one of those that always get accidentally guillotined when the Great Day of Liberation comes, because ... I guess ... I am full of parentheses. Revolutions can't abide parentheses.

Passing in any crowd are secret people whose hidden response to beauty is the desire to tear it into bleeding meat.

Any chance beats no chance.

You can understand why a system would seek information - but why in hell does it offer information? Why do we strive to be understood? Why is a refusal to accept communication so painful?