After months of failing health and anguishing twists and turns in her medical situation, Liz learned that her fate was sealed. Every avenue of hope had closed to her. She was desperate for relief from physical and mental trauma, and she was terrified by thoughts of a depressing and, in her mind, a demeaning conclusion to her life. Doctors gave what they could, probably all that they could. But they couldn't give Liz what she wanted; they couldn't prolong her life, and they wouldn't hasten her death. Mortally ill is Liz. Her disease not only terminal, her time is short. By crisis impaled, Liz is inspired to take control of her own fate/with stipulations. At heart, she wants to end her life in her own way surrounded by her dearest friends. The moral support of friends, though, fades to gray when the presence of their company is requested. --This her story. The devotion of a band of women to a dying friend not only resonates with compassion but also resounds with reservations about a request for involvement in an incredible and impolitic denouement. Stymied by Liz's appeal to be there for her at jouney's end causes her friends inordinate angst as orthodoxy comes down hard on complicity. The fast friends face perplexing terms and conditions of allegiance that are both excruciating and inescapable. Theirs becomes a quandary: Can it be wrong to do the right thing, or conversely, right to do the wrong thing? --This is their story. The clarion call for uncommon commitment and valor takes more than raw courage to answer. In those rare instances where extraordinary measures are called for, being there for someone in dire need can require the most discordant sacrifice imaginable. --And, in that event, this could be our story.

"Oh, no-" the anguished cry rang out. For a sister and her brothers, it was terrible news-of a death in the family-the death that left them dumbfounded. Broken hearted, here they were, a grand family suddenly bereft of a great part. It made no sense. ..".Sorry to inform you," the awful words struck like a thunderbolt. Mom and dad had crashed on their vacation trip. -So unfair, so unreal, so jarring...so final. All the siblings could think of was how much love was lost to them. Their parents were the linchpins; they were the finest; they were the most revered. At a loss due to a loss. So much love and affection was denied them in an unpredictable moment. What was to become of them? Mom with her daily wisdom. Dad with his usual counsel. Mom with her laugh. Dad with his wry humor. Mom with her catering and caring. Dad with his hugs and counsel. What will they do without them? The sister and her husband, the brothers and their wives, succumbed to the pain, weakening them. Where would the strength come from that was required to survive such a tragedy? When ravaged by happenstance, What holds the family together when hope and promise lose some of their dash? In the moments of crisis, inevitably, people are hanging on by hanging tough. That courage comes from their heritage, which is the real force, the saving grace. It's not just what they have inherited in family lore, but the bond that ties endowment and legacy together in a triumvirate that can spark the spirit. Haunting Memories says something about how desire can influence perception; by allowing-or causing-us to see what we want to see. We wonder when they're gone, Did we do enough for them? Did we express our love and affection often enough? Were we good to them? We aren't going to be able to answer yes to all such questions without some reservation. -Because we're never going to think we've done all that we could have or should have done for our loved ones. We can't get our minds off them. We can't let them go. We want them back. But we can't have them back. They are where they are. -And we can't get there from here.

There is creation. Of course And, it is, according to Webster's unabridged dictionary: "The act of bringing into existence from nothing the universe or the world or the living and nonliving things in it." But what's behind creation? What incentive inspires bringing something into existence? That is, What is the source of origins? The clue is probably right there in front of us, but hidden in plain sights. In this idiosyncratic rendition, a small number of witnesses are compelled to look, to seek. That's what this story, or tale, is about. Looking. Seeking. Vision. And it's not just about searching the universe for answers. But it's not just about searching ourselves for essence, either. Yet both are intertwined and advanced by an alien prominence that is both dazzling and daunting. More than anything, the alien eminence is a reflecting mirror. Of blunt candor. A mirror image of a mirror image. -We're in it/up to our very chins, treading the boards, anguishing about losing our balance, seeking affirmation. We cannot know the possible answers, though, until and unless we ask the challenging questions. And we cannot fear asking the difficult questions, or seeking the vexing answers, because they may cause discomfort and inconvenience. SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING...may reveal the source of origins, and it may reveal something about us that is provoking.also something that is promising. And an endeavor that is more hopeful in its prospects that fraught in its outlook has more charm than angst. This may be the Final Venture. In that context, and more than a metaphor, NOTHING could be the author of everything. Not an absence but a presence. Not a deficit but a salience. Not a void in the nature of things but ht essence in the core of everything.

You don't know bad until you know JB. And you won't begin to understand JB until you consider the genre. He was and they are anomalies and anachronisms: warped types out of dark times. JB and guys like him are ghoulish in their perversion. They're flagrant in their violence, cabalistic in their psychopathic nature, and, dangerous in their psychological indifference. OK, it's fiction, but there's a lot of truth to it. So, it's the truth; it's just not the whole truth. So, is this a tale or a study? Is it opinion or research? And, will any of those questions matter when considering the elements and essence of the issues? -Maybe . . . We may know something about what contributes to virulent antisocial behavior but we don't know enough about it to forestall it. Maybe we will. Maybe not. But what do we do about it in the meantime? That's the burning question. Because they're perverse, we might justly call them miscreants or brutes or degenerates. Those terms are almost euphemistic, though, when applied to the diabolic guys referred to here. They're not just barbaric; they're deadly. -So they're not just real bad. The designation for these guys is one we reserve for the worst kind of criminal there is ... a somebody not simply bad/but sinister. These are guys who commit uncommonly vile acts, some too gross to describe. And sadistic is too good a word to characterize the worst of their crimes, iniquitous too mild, obscene too vague. That's your bete noire: vulgar, vicious, villainous and virulent in the end, to the end- an end noxious/toxic/lethal. You can't feel sorry for this guy or his genre. But they like it when you do. Your mercy on top of their madness makes their day. They glory in the novelty and incomprehensibility of it. Because they see the beautiful irony in it- After your review of this abstract: Maybe you'll think I've been too harsh. Maybe you'll think I've been too blunt. Maybe you'll think I've been too vindictive. Maybe you'll think I've got issues. Maybe this, maybe that. And, maybe you'll just be thinking about reading this harrying treatise. If so . . . Get ready for the ride. It'll be bumpy. So hang on

There is creation. Of course And, it is, according to Webster's unabridged dictionary: "The act of bringing into existence from nothing the universe or the world or the living and nonliving things in it." But what's behind creation? What incentive inspires bringing something into existence? That is, What is the source of origins? The clue is probably right there in front of us, but hidden in plain sights. In this idiosyncratic rendition, a small number of witnesses are compelled to look, to seek. That's what this story, or tale, is about. Looking. Seeking. Vision. And it's not just about searching the universe for answers. But it's not just about searching ourselves for essence, either. Yet both are intertwined and advanced by an alien prominence that is both dazzling and daunting. More than anything, the alien eminence is a reflecting mirror. Of blunt candor. A mirror image of a mirror image. -We're in it/up to our very chins, treading the boards, anguishing about losing our balance, seeking affirmation. We cannot know the possible answers, though, until and unless we ask the challenging questions. And we cannot fear asking the difficult questions, or seeking the vexing answers, because they may cause discomfort and inconvenience. SOMETHING ABOUT NOTHING...may reveal the source of origins, and it may reveal something about us that is provoking.also something that is promising. And an endeavor that is more hopeful in its prospects that fraught in its outlook has more charm than angst. This may be the Final Venture. In that context, and more than a metaphor, NOTHING could be the author of everything. Not an absence but a presence. Not a deficit but a salience. Not a void in the nature of things but ht essence in the core of everything.

You don't know bad until you know JB. And you won't begin to understand JB until you consider the genre. He was and they are anomalies and anachronisms: warped types out of dark times. JB and guys like him are ghoulish in their perversion. They're flagrant in their violence, cabalistic in their psychopathic nature, and, dangerous in their psychological indifference. OK, it's fiction, but there's a lot of truth to it. So, it's the truth; it's just not the whole truth. So, is this a tale or a study? Is it opinion or research? And, will any of those questions matter when considering the elements and essence of the issues? -Maybe . . . We may know something about what contributes to virulent antisocial behavior but we don't know enough about it to forestall it. Maybe we will. Maybe not. But what do we do about it in the meantime? That's the burning question. Because they're perverse, we might justly call them miscreants or brutes or degenerates. Those terms are almost euphemistic, though, when applied to the diabolic guys referred to here. They're not just barbaric; they're deadly. -So they're not just real bad. The designation for these guys is one we reserve for the worst kind of criminal there is ... a somebody not simply bad/but sinister. These are guys who commit uncommonly vile acts, some too gross to describe. And sadistic is too good a word to characterize the worst of their crimes, iniquitous too mild, obscene too vague. That's your bete noire: vulgar, vicious, villainous and virulent in the end, to the end- an end noxious/toxic/lethal. You can't feel sorry for this guy or his genre. But they like it when you do. Your mercy on top of their madness makes their day. They glory in the novelty and incomprehensibility of it. Because they see the beautiful irony in it- After your review of this abstract: Maybe you'll think I've been too harsh. Maybe you'll think I've been too blunt. Maybe you'll think I've been too vindictive. Maybe you'll think I've got issues. Maybe this, maybe that. And, maybe you'll just be thinking about reading this harrying treatise. If so . . . Get ready for the ride. It'll be bumpy. So hang on

"Oh, no-" the anguished cry rang out. For a sister and her brothers, it was terrible news-of a death in the family-the death that left them dumbfounded. Broken hearted, here they were, a grand family suddenly bereft of a great part. It made no sense. ..".Sorry to inform you," the awful words struck like a thunderbolt. Mom and dad had crashed on their vacation trip. -So unfair, so unreal, so jarring...so final. All the siblings could think of was how much love was lost to them. Their parents were the linchpins; they were the finest; they were the most revered. At a loss due to a loss. So much love and affection was denied them in an unpredictable moment. What was to become of them? Mom with her daily wisdom. Dad with his usual counsel. Mom with her laugh. Dad with his wry humor. Mom with her catering and caring. Dad with his hugs and counsel. What will they do without them? The sister and her husband, the brothers and their wives, succumbed to the pain, weakening them. Where would the strength come from that was required to survive such a tragedy? When ravaged by happenstance, What holds the family together when hope and promise lose some of their dash? In the moments of crisis, inevitably, people are hanging on by hanging tough. That courage comes from their heritage, which is the real force, the saving grace. It's not just what they have inherited in family lore, but the bond that ties endowment and legacy together in a triumvirate that can spark the spirit. Haunting Memories says something about how desire can influence perception; by allowing-or causing-us to see what we want to see. We wonder when they're gone, Did we do enough for them? Did we express our love and affection often enough? Were we good to them? We aren't going to be able to answer yes to all such questions without some reservation. -Because we're never going to think we've done all that we could have or should have done for our loved ones. We can't get our minds off them. We can't let them go. We want them back. But we can't have them back. They are where they are. -And we can't get there from here.

After months of failing health and anguishing twists and turns in her medical situation, Liz learned that her fate was sealed. Every avenue of hope had closed to her. She was desperate for relief from physical and mental trauma, and she was terrified by thoughts of a depressing and, in her mind, a demeaning conclusion to her life. Doctors gave what they could, probably all that they could. But they couldn't give Liz what she wanted; they couldn't prolong her life, and they wouldn't hasten her death. Mortally ill is Liz. Her disease not only terminal, her time is short. By crisis impaled, Liz is inspired to take control of her own fate/with stipulations. At heart, she wants to end her life in her own way surrounded by her dearest friends. The moral support of friends, though, fades to gray when the presence of their company is requested. --This her story. The devotion of a band of women to a dying friend not only resonates with compassion but also resounds with reservations about a request for involvement in an incredible and impolitic denouement. Stymied by Liz's appeal to be there for her at jouney's end causes her friends inordinate angst as orthodoxy comes down hard on complicity. The fast friends face perplexing terms and conditions of allegiance that are both excruciating and inescapable. Theirs becomes a quandary: Can it be wrong to do the right thing, or conversely, right to do the wrong thing? --This is their story. The clarion call for uncommon commitment and valor takes more than raw courage to answer. In those rare instances where extraordinary measures are called for, being there for someone in dire need can require the most discordant sacrifice imaginable. --And, in that event, this could be our story.