a few concrete miles surrounded by a sea of sagebrush and varied farms, a vast algaed lake patrolled by crass working class men harvesting algae to sell
reason is like gold, only so much more valuable and so much deeper underground under layers of hubris, under layers of fear and dullness, under layers of pretention and emotion,
I don't have much but I don't have to tie any ties I don't have a car but I've got the stars and the bars I don't have a p.h.d. but I read some books and pen a few ideas
chains of words are so much stronger than chains of steel, and soft, oft-repeated lies break rebellions better than the wheel science and reason, yeah, those are well and good
I'm all right, I don't know. I'm okay. I used to think I was something; I used to think I drew the wine from the water. That was back when that meant something,
