Even the smallest of Revolutionist tales have room for infinity.
In that ole-City-you, one professed thinker once declared, “A prudent question is one half of wisdom.” Yeah, but which half?
In the City, some say, “You are what you eat,” and others say, “You are what you think,” but in the Bushes it goes without saying, “You are what you are.” (“Hey, let’s hear it for the Bushes.”)
There was once a particular Revolutionist who, in the midst of being totally overheated, considered going back into the heart of the City and making certain gestures public.
Another way in which a wanna-be Revolutionist can do mayhem to Himself, is in knowing that His old voices give fallacious directions, and to yet give heed to them. It is only a Real Revolutionist who can singularly constitute His own crime scene wherein He is both victim AND perpetrator.