How Alike Are The Groans Of Love

I Like Prefaces. I Read Them. Sometimes I Do Not Read Any Further.

The Howling Pariah Dogs, The Cocks That Herald Dawn All Night, The Drumming, The Moaning That Will Be Found Later White Plumage Huddled On Telegraph Wires In Back Gardens Or Fowl Roosting In Apple Trees, The Eternal Sorrow That Never Sleeps Of Great Mexico.

To Say Nothing Of What You Lose, Lose, Lose, Are Losing, Man. You Fool, You Stupid Fool ... You've Even Been Insulated From The Responsibility Of Genuine Suffering ... Even The Suffering You Do Endure Is Largely Unnecessary. Actually Spurious. It Lacks The Very Basis You Require Of It For Its Tragic Nature. You Deceive Yourself.

God, How Pointless And Empty The World Is! Days Filled With Cheap And Tarnished Moments Succeed Each Other, Restless And Haunted Nights Follow In Bitter Routine: The Sun Shines Without Brightness, And The Moon Rises Without Light. My Heart Has The Taste Of Ashes, And My Throat Is Tight And Weary With Weeping. What Is A Lost Soul? It Is One That Has Turned From Its True Path And Is Groping In The Darkness Of Remembered Ways—

For A Time They Confronted Each Other Like Two Mute Unspeaking Forts.