We made love. How pedestrian the words look-trite, worn, practically featureless with use-but how can one better describe that which happens when it happens? That creation? That magic blending? I might say we became figures in a mesmerized dance before the rocking talisman of the moon, starting slow, so slow... a pair of feathers drifting through clear liquid substance of sky... gradually accelerating, faster and faster and finally into photon existence of pure light... as my whole straining body burst like fluid electricity into hers.

Ocean, Ocean I'll beat you in the end.

People think love is an emotion. Love is good sense.

See with your ears and hear with your eyes.

He knows that you have to laugh at the things that hurt you just to keep yourself in balance, just to keep the world from running you plumb crazy.

Listen, wait, and be patient. Every shaman knows you have to deal with the fire that's in your audience's eye.

Leary can get a part of my mind that's kind of rusted shut grinding again, just by being around him and talking.