Since We Don't Know Where

When Shakespeare Was Writing, He Wasn't Writing For Stuff To Lie On The Page; It Was Supposed To Get Up And Move Around.

To Be Just Without Being Mad (and The Madder You Get The Madder You Get), To Be Peaceful Without Being Stupid, To Be Interested Without Being Compulsive, To Be Happy Without Being Hysterical... Smoke Grass.

Then - As He Was Talking - A Set Of Tail-lights Going Past Lit Up Mcmurphy's Face, And The Windshield Reflected An Expression That Was Allowed Only Because He Figured It'd Be Too Dark For Anybody In The Car To See, Dreadfully Tired And Strained And Frantic, Like There Wasn't Enough Time Left For Something He Had To Do.

The Grateful Dead Are Our Religion. This Is A Religion That Doesn't Pay Homage To The God That All The Other Religions Pay Homage To.

The Republican Consciousness Has No Integrity And It Falls Apart Once You Check It Out. If You're A Christian, Why Would You Want To Fry This Dude?