Issue 63, Fall 1975
At 29 years of age, completely satisfied with the gentle Fall outside, with vast stretches of contentment ahead of me in an unbroken melloyello greenery, I took my head in my hands and I considered my position. I WAS BORED IN HEAVEN!
At first, unbelieving, I tried to go on with my daily routines which just at the moment they could have secured my nights, got blasted by this realization. “Oh, daily routines,” I cried at them as they filled with void, “please do not abandon me! I am only trying to conquer my ambitions, to set my greed to rest in the cool shade of its immediate demands, to give my need for worship a little rest & nostalgia (R & G), to lure the beast of my lust back into the zoo where it belongs, to silence my mind to the point where stupidity will be my strong point, to shut up in general, and to shrink physically in particular.” Unresponsive to my passionate plea the daily routines began disintegrating.