Each Servant Stamps The Reader With A

You Stupefied Me. We Waxed, Carnivores, Late And Alight In The Beaded Winter. All Was Ominous, Luminous.

Until Only Infinity Remained Of Beauty

Death Is A New Office Building Filled With Modern Furniture, A Wise Thing, But Which Has No Purpose For Us.

Therefore Bivouac We On This Great, Blond Highway, Unimpeded By Veiled Scruples, Worn Conundrums. Morning Is Impermanent. Grab Sex Things, Swing Up Over The Horizon Like A Boy On A Fishing Expedition.

The Promise Of Learning Is A Delusion.... Tomorrow Would Alter The Sense Of What Had Already Been Learned, That The Learning Process Is Extended In This Way, So That From This Standpoint None Of Us Ever Graduates From College, For Time Is An Emulsion, And Probably Thinking Not To Grow Up Is The Brightest Kind Of Maturity For Us, Right Now At Any Rate.