Fiction Becomes Visual By Becoming Verbal

And I Am In Retirement From Love.

Surely It's Better To Live In The Country, To Live On A Prairie By A Drawing Of Rivers, In Iowa Or Illinois Or Indiana, Say, Than In Any City, In Any Stinking Fog Of Human Beings, In Any Blooming Orchard Of Machines. It Ought To Be.

How Do We Know, Then, When A Code's Been Cracked?when We Are Right?when Do We Know If We Have Even Received A Message? Why, Naturally, When, Upon One Set Of Substitutions, Sense Emerges Like The Outline Under A Rubbing; When A Single Tentative Construal Leads To Several; When All The Sullen Letters Of The Code Cry Team! After Yea! Has Been, By Several Hands, Uncovered.

Some People Say Their Life Is Full Of Darkness And I Wonder Why They Don't Just Try And Switch The Lights On.

I Should Like To Suggest That At Least On The Face Of It A Stroke By Stroke Story Of A Copulation Is Exactly As Absurd As A Chew By Chew Account Of The Consumption Of A Chicken's Wing.