So childhood too feels good at first, before one happens to notice the terrible sameness, age after age.

They watch on, evil, incredibly stupid, enjoying my destruction. 'Poor Grendel's had an accident,' I whisper. 'So may you all.

Poor Grendel's had an accident. So may you all.

When I was a child I truly loved: Unthinking love as calm and deep As the North Sea. But I have lived, And now I do not sleep.

Art, of course, is a way of thinking, a way of mining reality.

We know that where community exists in confers upon its members identity, a sense of belonging, and a measure of security. . . . Communities are the ground-level generators and preservers of values and ethical systems.

Talking, talking. Spinning a web of words, pale walls of dreams, between myself and all I see.