When we invoke gods of superferocity that scare Death to death, we're not only talking on some grand level, we are also working on taking that little triumph in the day that when you get rid of your self-involvement and just release yourself into your play or work.
Later in his life Tolstoy was given a Remington understroke typewriter but his spirituality did not incline him to use labor-saving machines.
Over piggeries, and mixens, and apples, and hay, / They lumpered straight into the night; / And finding bylong where a halter-path lay, / At dawn reached Tim's house […]
I mean, not only are they found on Australia alone, like some kind of mutant evolutionary strain—they have the eyes of deer and the useless paws of a T. Rex.
