Being, I imagine, must be very simple. It is Becoming which is so messy and which I am all for.

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?

You know, exams are like war -- the birth rate of ideas goes up. Anything to keep from this dismal regimen, says poor mind, and hopefully tosses up another distraction.

The only way I can possibly heat my so-called mind up to working temperature is to imagine I'm talking to someone I admire.

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.

Evil is the voltage of good; the urge to goodness, without the potential of evil, is trivial.

Any chance beats no chance.