A Sound Of Cornered-animal Fear And Hate

The Grateful Dead Are Faster Than Light Drive.

I've Never Seen Crack Or A Lot Of These New Drugs. Don't Know Anything About Them. I Don't Know What They Do For You, Or Whether They Do Anything Good For You Or Not. But I Do Still Have A Lot Of Faith In The Spiritual Purity Of Lsd And Pot.

The World News Might Not Be Therapeutic.

Then - As He Was Talking - A Set Of Tail-lights Going Past Lit Up Mcmurphy's Face, And The Windshield Reflected An Expression That Was Allowed Only Because He Figured It'd Be Too Dark For Anybody In The Car To See, Dreadfully Tired And Strained And Frantic, Like There Wasn't Enough Time Left For Something He Had To Do.

He Was In His Chair In The Corner, Resting A Second Before He Came Out For The Next Round -- In A Long Line Of Next Rounds. The Thing He Was Fighting, You Couldn't Whip It For Good. All You Could Do Was Keep On Whipping It, Till You Couldn't Come Out Anymore And Somebody Else Had To Take Your Place.