Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.
It's been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home -- only the millions of last moments . . . nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments.
Hey, over here! Have your picture taken with a reclusive author! Today only, we'll throw in a free autograph! But wait, there's more!
'Recluse' is a code word generated by journalists... meaning, 'doesn't like to talk to reporters.'
She would give them order. She would create constellations.
But as we all know, rock ānā roll will never die, and education too, as Henry Adams always sez, keeps going on forever.