Freebsd Fortunes 4

How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?
                -- Pink Floyd

How can you prove whether at this moment we are sleeping, and all our
thoughts are a dream; or whether we are awake, and talking to one another
in the waking state?
                -- Plato

How can you think and hit at the same time?
                -- Yogi Berra

How can you work when the system's so crowded?

How come everyone's going so slow if it's called rush hour?

How come financial advisors never seem to be as wealthy as they
claim they'll make you?

How come we never talk anymore?

How come wrong numbers are never busy?

How comes it to pass, then, that we appear such cowards
in reasoning, and are so afraid to stand the test of ridicule?
                -- A. Cooper

How could they think women a recreation?
Or the repetition of bodies of steady interest?
Only the ignorant or the busy could.  That elm
of flesh must prove a luxury of primes;
be perilous and dear with rain of an alternate earth.
Which is not to damn the forested China of touching.
I am neither priestly nor tired, and the great knowledge
of breasts with their loud nipples congregates in me.
The sudden nakedness, the small ribs, the mouth.
Splendid.  Splendid.  Splendid.  Like Rome.  Like loins.
A glamour sufficient to our long marvelous dying.
I say sufficient and speak with earned privilege,
for my life has been eaten in that foliate city.
To ambergris.  But not for recreation.
I would not have lost so much for recreation.

Nor for love as the sweet pretend: the children's game
of deliberate ignorance of each to allow the dreaming.
Not for the impersonal belly nor the heart's drunkenness
have I come this far, stubborn, disastrous way.
But for relish of those archipelagoes of person.
To hold her in hand, closed as any sparrow,
and call and call forever till she turn from bird
to blowing woods.  From woods to jungle.  Persimmon.
To light.  From light to princess.  From princess to woman
in all her fresh particularity of difference.
Then oh, through the underwater time of night
indecent and still, to speak to her without habit.
This I have done with my life, and am content.
I wish I could tell you how it is in that dark,
standing in the huge singing and the alien world.
                -- Jack Gilbert, "Don Giovanni on his way to Hell"