...But of these sophisms and elenchs of merchandise I skill not...
Milton, Areopagitica

Except he had found the
standing sea-rock that even this last
Temptation breaks on; quieter than death but lovelier; peace
that quiets the desire even of praising it.

Jeffers, Meditation On Saviors



Don't write anything for weeks and weeks and then just bitch and snark. My only excuse for the bitterness below is I just reread Darrow's "Address to The Prisoners at The Cook County Jail" last night. It maps pretty well for what happened. Until you get that touch of evil sense, that this is all much bigger than it seems, than we're led to believe, than our senses carry, until your mind and heart get opened, gravity dissipates, and where is that light coming from anyway?
It hurts. It keeps hurting. And that's where the bitterness enters. I'm trying to do too many things at once. Vent off geysers of rage, speak calmly to nice young people, nail the inhuman swine, and accomplish something I couldn't name under torture for what it really is.
So N&P, I felt ya readin it, and it didn't feel like I got it right enough for that. So this, not to undo it, but hold.
Soon more better.

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