If we emerge in the middle of a hallucination, one that is constantly identified for us as reality, do we have the right or obligation to disappear and try again?

The heroes of life organize the mind to continually help it find the terraces of meaning from which we stand and look at the next destiny.

Edged out and away from the center of things the mind stops and picks up the variations the center desperately needs.

Fifteen miles from the mountain puts us on guard against its strange delights.

We met people who want a song about what controls them and we ask them to put out their cigarettes.

A deceit oppresses us when it appears in the objects one loves or, perhaps, when we know that our childhood’s have been robbed from us.

Claims on our souls, like dogs, lift their legs against us. Is it any wonder that people complain that we smell?

Who gives us the right to perceive the universe?

When we investigate ourselves do we plant something illegal in order to separate ourselves from our complacency?

From the ground up we appear like an idiot but improve as we move our eyes from left to right.