For The Man Who Thought He Was

Falsehood Is Never In Words; It Is In Things.

Nobody Looks At The Moon In The Afternoon, And This Is The Moment When It Would Most Require Our Attention, Since Its Existence Is Still In Doubt.

The Human Race Is A Zone Of Living Things That Should Be Defined By Tracing Its Confines.

Work Stops At Sunset. Darkness Falls Over The Building Site. The Sky Is Filled With Stars. "there Is The Blueprint," They Say.

...and Every Wednesday The Perfumed Young Lady Slips Me A Hundred-crown Note To Leave Her Alone With The Convict. And By Thursday The Hundred Crowns Are Already Gone In So Much Beer. And When The Visiting Hour Is Over, The Young Lady Comes Out With The Stink Of Jail In Her Elegant Clothes; And The Prisoner Goes Back To His Cell With The Lady's Perfume In His Jailbird's Suit. And I'm Left With The Smell Of Beer. Life Is Nothing But Trading Smells.