Art Is Science In The Flesh.

Compromise Yourself. Obscure Your Own Trail.

I Shall Never Forget What I Saw At The Museum Of Modern Art: In A Spotless Schoolroom, Fifty Little Girls Painting Away At Tables Covered With Brushes, Pots, Tubes, Bowls, Staring Into Space And Sticking Out Their Tongues Like The Clever Animals That Ring A Bell, Tongues Lolling And Eyes Vague. Teachers Supervise These Young Creators Of Abstract Art And Slap Their Wrists If What They Paint Represents Something And Dangerously Inclines Toward Realism. The Mothers - Still At The Picasso Stage - Are Not Admitted.

The Instinct Of Nearly All Societies Is To Lock Up Anybody Who Is Truly Free. First, Society Begins By Trying To Beat You Up. If This Fails, They Try To Poison You. If This Fails Too, The Finish By Loading Honors On Your Head.

And Now I Have To Confess The Unpardonable And The Scandalous. I Am A Happy Man. And I Am Going To Tell You The Secret Of My Happiness. It Is Quite Simple. I Love Mankind. I Love Love. I Hate Hate. I Try To Understand And Accept.

The Poet Is At The Disposal Of The Night. His Role Is Humble, He Must Clean House And Await Its Due Visitation.