The influence of gaslight or electric light on the growth of paraheliotropic trees

The collapsing of distinctions — the care of others — if we could feel what our victims feel — would we ever kill? The Pathological Skypeople — who cannot see — the great miracle of an energetic life — the absolute worship of the Be-Here-Now — Being, Being, and Time — and the connections we forge — what we didn’t see — frond tickling frond, and the quick dilation of pupils in the dark — the surprised breath —

Death is not the enemy, and death is not the end — it is only the end for us — but of all the things that concern us, our selves are but one — though we hold them precious —

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shepard_tone

For me, the fact that space is expanding implies that whatever caused the Big Bang is still happening.

$35 to Philabundance. (Think Global, Act Local).

Come abide awhile yet, our legs have proved less able to the task

For men, the word for world is woman.

It is possible to discern the priorities of a country by examining its laws. Ours is a country that prohibits marijuana but allows guns.

“I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I can’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier ’til this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer. I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been. V.”

Take the plots of all the great road movies, and weave them together, with Huck and Jim and sometimes Tom in fast cars and nice cars and hitchhiking and stranded in highway resttops and stuck on top of mountains and staying in cheap motels and scoring dope in random cities and waking up in strange places and searching always searching for Old Man Moriarty or the Great Big Pooh Bear in the Sky, or Nobody or Nobodaddy or something or someone new or old or precious that never ever changes never ever changes and then lay all the tales and stories and scenes and set pieces in a row from end to end cut up and reconfigured on transparent tracing paper with the light shining behind it and then let it circle like a kaleidoscopic toy windmill in the hand of a dark-haired child and the story is not seen or read or understood but experienced, absorbed, like blotter-paper  this is my body on the tip of my tongue —