The Center Will Not Hold If It

The Death Of God Left The Angels In A Strange Position. They Were Overtaken Suddenly By A Fundamental Question. One Can Attempt To Imagine The Moment. How Did They Look At The Instant The Question Invaded Them, Flooding The Angelic Consciousness, Taking Hold With Terrifying Force? The Question Was, "what Are Angels?" New To Questioning, Unaccustomed To Terror, Unskilled In Aloneness, The Angels (we Assume) Fell Into Despair.

Yes, Success Is Everything. Failure Is More Common. Most Achieve A Sort Of Middling Thing, But Fortunately One's Situation Is Always Blurred, You Never Know Absolutely Quite Where You Are.

"i Smell Fennel," Launcelot Said. "that Reminds Me, I Should Tell You I Have Discovered A Specific For Maims. You Take Salt, Good-quality River Mud, And Bee Urine, And Slather It On The Maim And Hold It There For Two Days. Works Like A Charm. Gathering The Bee Urine Is A Bit Of A Bore."

How Can You Be Alienated Without First Having Been Connected?

Can The Life Of The Time Be Caught In An Advertisement? Is That How It Is, Really, In The Meadows Of The World?