Every Day In The Mirror I Watch

What Uniform Can I Wear To Hide My Heavy Heart? It Is Too Heavy. It Will Always Show. Jacques Felt Himself Growing Gloomy Again. He Was Well Aware That To Live On Earth A Man Must Follow Its Fashions, And Hearts Were No Longer Worn.

The Runner Stopped Dead, Lost His Balance, Froze In One Of Those Violent Attitudes In Which The Photographers Petrify Living Reality.

Nothing Ever Gets Anywhere. The Earth Keeps Turning Round And Gets Nowhere. The Moment Is The Only Thing That Counts.

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.

Find First, Seek Later.