This World… Belongs To The

What The Chronics Are - Or Most Of Us - Are Machines With Flaws Inside That Can't Be Repaired, Flaws Born In, Or Flaws Beat In Over So Many Years Of The Guy Running Head-on Into Solid Things That By The Time The Hospital Found Him He Was Bleeding Rust In Some Vacant Lot.

Man Is Certain Of Nothing But His Ability To Fail. It Is The Deepest Faith We Have, And The Unbeliever- The Blasphemer, The Dissenter- Will Stimulate In Us The Most Righteous Of Furies.

We'd Just Shared The Last Beer And Slung The Empty Can Out The Window At A Stop Sign And Were Just Waiting Back To Get The Feel Of The Day, Swimming In That Kind Of Tasty Drowsiness That Comes Over You After A Day Of Going Hard At Something You Enjoy Doing -- Half Sunburned And Half Drunk And Keeping Awake Only Because You Wanted To Savor The Taste As Long As You Could.

This World… Belongs To The Strong, My Friend! The Ritual Of Our Existence Is Based On The Strong Getting Stronger By Devouring The Weak.

There’s No Doubt In My Mind That Mcmurphy’s Won, But I’m Not Sure What.