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Today's Stichomancy for William Gibson

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Common Sense by Thomas Paine:

to the Romans.

Now three thousand years passed away from the Mosaic account of the creation, till the Jews under a national delusion requested a king. Till then their form of government (except in extraordinary cases, where the Almighty interposed) was a kind of republic administered by a judge and the elders of the tribes. Kings they had none, and it was held sinful to acknowledge any being under that title but the Lord of Hosts. And when a man seriously reflects on the idolatrous homage which is paid to the persons of kings, he need not wonder that the Almighty, ever jealous of his honour, should disapprove of a form of government which so impiously invades the prerogative of heaven.


Common Sense
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Prufrock/Other Observations by T. S. Eliot:

But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

So I would have had him leave, So I would have had her stand and grieve, So he would have left As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised As the mind deserts the body it has used. I should find Some way incomparably light and deft, Some way we both should understand, Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.

She turned away, but with the autumn weather


Prufrock/Other Observations
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Ivanhoe by Walter Scott:

time this revel were broken off.''

``It must be by your management then, gallant yeoman,'' said Ivanhoe; ``for each hint I have essayed to give him serves only to induce him to prolong it.''

``Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my Sovereign?'' said Robin Hood, pausing for all instant; ``but by Saint Christopher, it shall be so. I were undeserving his grace did I not peril it for his good.---Here, Scathlock, get thee behind yonder thicket, and wind me a Norman blast on thy


Ivanhoe