It Was A Good Speech, But The

Why Do People Resist [engines, Bridges, And Cities] So? They Are Symbols And Products Of The Imagination, Which Is The Force That Ensures Justice And Historical Momentum In An Imperfect World, Because Without Imagination We Would Not Have The Wherewithal To Challenge Certainty, And We Could Never Rise Above Ourselves.

When You Die, You Know, You Hear The Insistent Pounding That Defines All Things, Whether Of Matter Or Energy, Since There Is Nothing In The Universe, Really, But Proportion.

Rigel, Betelgeuse, And Orion. There Was No Finer Church, No Finer Choir, Than The Stars Speaking In Silence To The Many Consumptives Silently Condemned, A Legion Upon The Dark Rooftops. The Wind Came Down From The North Like A Runner In Lacrosse, Violent And Hard, To Batter Every Living Thing. They Were There, Each One Alone In Conversation With The Stars, Mining Ephemeral Love From Cold And Distant Light.

Such A Thing As The Child Left Alone To Die In The Hallway Was Unknown On The Marsh. But Here, In The Dawn, Was Mortality Itself. In The City Were Places To Fall From Which One Could Never Emerge -- Dark Dreams And Slow Death, The Death Of Children, Suffering Without Grace Or Redemption, Ultimate And Eternal Loss. The Memory Of The Child Stayed With Him. But That Was Not To Be The End Of It, For Reality Went Around In A Twisting Ring. Even The Irredeemable Would Be Redeemed, And There Was A Balance For Everything. There Had To Be.

The Human Race Is Intoxicated With Narrow Victories, For Life Is A String Of Them Like Pearls That Hit The Floor When The Rope Breaks, And Roll Away In Perfection And Anarchy.