To Vik Lovell Who Told Me Dragons

The Haight Is Just A Place; The '60s Was A Spirit.

This World Belongs To The Strong, My Friend! The Ritual Of Our Existence Is Based On The Strong Getting Stronger By Devouring The Weak. We Must Face Up To This. No More Than Right That It Should Be This Way. We Must Learn To Accept It As A Law Of The Natural World. The Rabbits Accept Their Role In The Ritual And Recognize The Wolf As The Strong. In Defense, The Rabbit Becomes Sly And Frightened And Elusive And He Digs Holes And Hides When The Wolf Is About. And He Endures, He Goes On. He Knows His Place. He Most Certainly Doesn't Challenge The Wolf To Combat. Now, Would That Be Wise? Would It?

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.

There's A Lot Of People Who Don't Understand The Circle Crops In England. Pure Enigma.

Nowhere Else In History Has There Ever Been A Flag That Stands For The Right To Burn Itself. This Is The Fractal Of Our Flag. It Stands For The Right To Destroy Itself.