All True Language Is Incomprehensible, Like The

For The Lost Are Lost By Nature, All Your Ideas Of Moral Regeneration Will Make No Difference, There Is An Innate Determinism, There Is An Undeniable Incurability In Suicide, Crime, Idiocy, Madness, There Is An Invincible Cuckoldry In Man, There Is A Congenital Weakness Of The Character, A Castration Of The Mind.

And War Is Wonderful, Isn't It? For It's War, Isn't It, That The Americans Have Been Preparing For And Are Preparing For This Way Step By Step. In Order To Defend This Senseless Manufacture From All Competition That Could Not Fail To Arise On All Sides.

How Hard Is It, When Everything Encourages Us To Sleep, Though We May Look About Us With Conscious, Clinging Eyes, To Wake And Yet Look About Us As In A Dream, With Eyes That No Longer Know Their Function And Whose Gaze Is Turned Inward.

It Is Not Opium Which Makes Me Work But Its Absence, And In Order For Me To Feel Its Absence It Must From Time To Time Be Present.

In Consciousness Dwells The Wondrous, With It Man Attains The Realm Beyond The Material, And The Peyote Tells Us, Where To Find It.