Writers Are Insane. For months we are lone wolves locked in our caves. Then overnight we become publicity hounds. It's a schizophrenic business.

After the monkeys came down from the trees and learned to hurl sharp objects, they had had to move into caves for protection--not only from the big predatory cats but, as they began to lose their monkey fur, from the elements. Eventually, they started transposing their hunting fantasies onto cave walls in the form of pictures, first as an attempt at practical magic and later for the strange, unexpected pleasure they discovered in artistic creation. Time passed. Art came off the walls and turned into ritual. Ritual became religion. Religion spawned science. Science led to big business. And big business, if it continues on its present mindless, voracious trajectory, could land those of us lucky enough to survive its ultimate legacy back into caves again.

You see, unlike most writers today, I do not use a computer. I write the old-fashioned way: on the walls of caves.

There’s nothing to be scared of, right Akhol?”He said nothing as he stepped toward the rushing water that rolled around a big rock and was swallowed whole by impenetrable darkness.“Right?” Andrew repeated, his voice swallowed by the sound of rushing water.Akhol didn’t respond again. He tapped a foot above the water before he stepped in and disappeared beneath the surface in one fluid motion.

Modern architecture predominately specializes in designing what are essentially dimly lit caves.

I wanted a metamorphosis, a change to fish, to leviathan, to destroyer. I wanted the earth to open up, to swallow everything in one engulfing yawn. I wanted to see the city buried fathoms deep in the bosom of the sea. I wanted to sit in a cave and read by candlelight. I wanted that eye extinguished so that I might have a chance to know my own body, my own desires. I wanted to be alone for a thousand years in order to reflect on what I had seen and heard - and in order to forget.

Take it easy, friend," siad Peter, regaining his balance, quickly understanding the condition Henry w

Oh wondrous,' murmured Lin Chung. 'Oh, water, mistress of earth, valley spirit, eternal feminine!''Taoism again?' Phryne leaned close to hear what he was whispering.'From the "Tao Te Ching." The old Master should have seen this. All made by water, the female, cold, moon principle.''Yin,' said Phryne. 'This is the womb of the earth.''Indeed.' He took her hand. 'Completely foreign to all male, hot, sun creatures.''Like you?''Like me. Yang can only admire and tremble.''Come along.' She led him into the centre of the huge space. 'We don't want to get lost in the earthmother's insides.