Lawrence Krauser

“A low thrum in his gut. Love. What is the measure of such a thing? Love, or the word love, is like an elusive jungle bird that because it is so durable has thousands of mimics and camouflaged neighbors.”

“The past is fractal premonition, infinite to the eye but nothing to be built on . . .”

“There was a time when our desire for each other would have landed us in an asylum or prison, had it not been sanctioned by mutual assent. True or false.”