San Francisco Fisherman's Wharf

San Francisco Fisherman's WharfParis City of LightsNew Horizons
sprang from Mother's lap. "Passèdare the flunked, Mom!"
Like an old Enochist at the end of a petition, she touched her temples, closed her eyes, and murmured, "A-plus, dear Founder!"
Commencèd woman; womb that bore me! No matter, how much she grasped of her own wisdom: Truth's vessel needn't understand its contents. When I said -- to myself, really -- "Bray's not the enemy; WESCAC is!" she replied, "Your passèd father, Gilesey; and He loves me yet," as if I'd praised instead of blamed that root and fruit of Differentiation. Yet when I exclaimed, "They were all passed, every one, and didn't know it -- but I failed them!" she repeated,"Passèd are the flunked. A -plus!" and one more scale fell from my eyes. I yearned to be alone, to study the paradox of my new Answer; then to begone, that