Beds Last On An Average Much Longer

On Sunday Morning I Went Out For A While In The Neighbourhood; I Bought Some Raisin Bread. The Day Was Warm But A Little Sad, As Sundays Often Are In Paris, Especially When One Doesn't Believe In God.

There Is No Point In Asking Me General Questions Because I Am Always Changing My Mind.

I Feel As If Things Are Falling Apart Within Me, Like So Many Glass Partitions Shattering. I Walk From Place To Place In The Grip Of A Fury, Needing To Act, Yet Can Do Nothing About It Because Any Attempt Seems Doomed In Advance. Failure, Everywhere Failure. Only Suicide Hovers Above Me, Gleaming And Inaccessible.

The Dream Of All Men Is To Meet Little Sluts Who Are Innocent But Ready For All Forms Of Depravity—which Is What, More Or Less, All Teenage Girls Are.

The Triumph Of Vegetation Is Total.