I don't want to intrude, but I can't help it; I am the Sea.

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Obama is not a veteran and can't get the job done.

In time, Hilary moved on from this attack because it means fuck-all to democratic voters. The fact that he does not have the Washington networking that Hilary does is even a selling point for many.


Obama is a plagiarizer.

Obama has received flak from Hilary about plagiarizing a speech by Deval Patrick.

You can see the comparison here:




Funny, Deval Patrick is one of Obama's national co-chairs.

His response:



Oddly enough, at the end of this debate, we see something hypocritical:





Obama is playing dirty.

Hilary's accusation that an Obama mailer attacked her unfairly:




An interesting photocopy of a Clinton mailer:




Obama's response:









I simply see a petty, ineffective campaign on Clinton's part.

This picture sums it up, for me:





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New song! It's called Sword and Shield.

Comment if you'd like me to send it to you.

( Lyrics )



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The universe offers a paradox too great for the finite mind to grasp. As the living brain cannot conceive of a nonliving brain – although it may think it can – the finite mind cannot grasp the infinite.

The prosaic fact of the universe’s existence single-handedly defeats the pragmatist and the cynic.

The greatest mystery the universe offers is not life but Size; Size encompasses life. The child, who is most at home with wonder, says: Daddy? What is above the sky? And the father says: The darkness of space. The child: What is beyond space? The father: the galaxy. The child: Beyond the galaxy? The father: another galaxy. The child: Beyond the other galaxies? The father: No one knows.

You see? Size defeats us. For the fish, the lake in which he lives is the universe. What does the fish think when he is jerked up by the mouth through the silver limits of existence and into a new universe where the air drowns him and the light is blue madness? Where huge bipeds with no gills stuff it into a suffocating box and cover it with wet weeds to die?

Or one might take the point of a pencil and magnify it. One reaches the point where a stunning realization strikes home: the pencil point is not solid; it is composed of atoms which whirl and revolve like a trillion demon planets. What seems solid to us is actually only a loose net held together by gravitation. Shrunk to the correct size, the distances between these atoms might become leagues, gulfs, eons. The atoms themselves are composed of nuclei and revolving electrons. One may step down further to subatomic particles. And then to what? Tachyons? Nothing? Of course not. Everything in the universe denies nothing; to suggest conclusions to things is impossible.

If you fell outward to the limit of the universe, would you find a board with a fence and signs reading DEAD END? No. You might find something hard and rounded, as the chick must see the egg from the inside. And if you should peck through that shell, what great and torrential light might shine through your hole at the end of space? Might you look through and discover our entire universe is but part of one atom on a blade of grass? Might you be forced to think that by burning a twig you incinerate an eternity of eternities? That existence rises not to one infinite, but to an infinity of them?

Perhaps you saw what place our universe plays in the scheme of things – as an atom in a blade of grass. Could it be that everything we can perceive, from the infinitesimal virus to the distant Horsehead Nebula, is contained in one blade of grass... a blade that may have existed for only a day or two in an alien time-flow? What if that blade should be cut off by a scythe? When it began to die, would the rot seep into our own universe and our low lives, turning everything yellow and brown and desiccated? Perhaps it’s already begun to happen. We say the world has moved on; maybe we really mean that it has begun to dry up.

Think how small such a concept of things makes us! If a God watches over it all, does He actually mete out justice for a race of gnats among an infinitude of races of gnats? Does his eye see the sparrow fall when the sparrow is less than a speck of hydrogen floating disconnected in the depth of space? And if He does see... what must the nature of such a God be? Where does He live? How is it possible to live beyond infinity?

Imagine all of the sand in a vast desert and imagine a trillion universes – not worlds but universes – encapsulated in each grain of that desert; and within each universe an infinity of others. We tower over these universes from our pitiful grass vantage point; with one swing of your boot you may knock a billion billion worlds flying off into darkness, in a chain never to be completed.



Size defeats us...

-Abridged from The Gunslinger




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