somewhere between 1986 and 1996 I was left alone with an ink pen and a pencil. It’s interesting how some of these thoughts cancel each other out, just like in real life.

The man in smokey fumes is a welder. We accept certain perils to provide for our families.

The Personally Tuned Script isn’t completely clear. It says We are all continually faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disquised as insoluble (?) problems. Looks like there is an attribution to a General Authority in the Church