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Today's Stichomancy for Jack Kerouac

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Middlemarch by George Eliot:

practice was still strutting or shambling along the old paths, and there was still scientific work to be done which might have seemed to be a direct sequence of Bichat's. This great seer did not go beyond the consideration of the tissues as ultimate facts in the living organism, marking the limit of anatomical analysis; but it was open to another mind to say, have not these structures some common basis from which they have all started, as your sarsnet, gauze, net, satin, and velvet from the raw cocoon? Here would be another light, as of oxy-hydrogen, showing the very grain of things, and revising ail former explanations. Of this sequence to Bichat's work, already vibrating along many currents of the European mind,


Middlemarch
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Hiero by Xenophon:

more numerous, but more intense.

That sounds incredible (exclaimed Simonides); if it were really so, how do you explain the passionate desire commonly displayed to wield the tyrant's sceptre, and that too on the part of persons reputed to be the ablest of men? Why should all men envy the despotic monarch?

For the all-sufficient reason (he replied) that they form conclusions on the matter without experience of the two conditions. And I will try to prove to you the truth of what I say, beginning with the faculty of vision, which, unless my memory betrays me, was your starting-point.

Well then, when I come to reason[13] on the matter, first of all I find that, as regards the class of objects of which these orbs of

The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The White Moll by Frank L. Packard:

imagination which ran riot, and which she could not control. She could have fled from it, screaming in panic-stricken hysteria - but there had been no other place as safe as that was. Safe! The word seemed to reach the uttermost depths of irony. Safe! Well, it was true, wasn't it?

She had not wanted to return there; her soul itself had revolted against it; but she had dared to do nothing else. And all through that night, huddled on the edge of the cot bed, her fingers clinging tenaciously to her revolver as though afraid for even an instant to relinquish it from her grasp, listening, listening, always listening for a footstep that might come up from that dark hall