Civilization Is Not And Can Never Be

All Writers Are Propagandists.

There Is A Language Older By Far And Deeper Than Words. It Is The Language Of Bodies, Of Body On Body, Wind On Snow, Rain On Trees, Wave On Stone. It Is The Language Of Dream, Gesture, Symbol, Memory. We Have Forgotten This Language. We Do Not Even Remember That It Exists.

By Deafening Ourselves To The Emotional Consequences Of Violence We Have Become Confused By Its Relationship To Sex. We Have Come To Believe That Violence Equals Aggression, And We Have Come To Base Our Model Of Sexuality On Our Model Of Violence... Converting An Act Of Aggression Into An Act Of Consensual Sexuality.

Stand With Me. Stand And Fight. I Am One, And We Would Be Two. Two More Might Join And We Would Be Four. When Four More Join We Will Be Eight. We Will Be Eight People Fighting Whom Others Will Join. And Then More People. And More. Stand And Fight.

Question Four: What Book Would You Give To Every Child? Answer: I Wouldn't Give Them A Book. Books Are Part Of The Problem: This Strange Belief That A Tree Has Nothing To Say Until It Is Murdered, Its Flesh Pulped, And Then (human) People Stain This Flesh With Words. I Would Take Children Outside And Put Them Face To Face With Chipmunks, Dragonflies, Tadpoles, Hummingbirds, Stones, Rivers, Trees, Crawdads. That Said, If You're Going To Force Me To Give Them A Book, It Would Be The Wind In The Willows, Which I Hope Would Remind Them To Go Outside.