How Can One Not Succumb And Allow

As We Manipulate Everyday Words, We Forget That They Are Fragments Of Ancient And Eternal Stories, That We Are Building Our Houses With Broken Pieces Of Sculptures And Ruined Statues Of Gods As The Barbarians Did.

My Ideal Goal Is To "mature" Into Childhood. That Would Be Genuine Maturity.

Even In The Depths Of Sleep, In Which He Had To Satisfy His Need For Protection And Love By Curling Himself Up Into A Trembling Ball, He Could Not Rid Himself Of The Feeling Of Loneliness And Homelessness.

...."the Sound Of A Barrel Organ Rising From The Deepest Golden Vein Of The Day; Two Or Three Bars Of A Chorus, Played On A Distant Piano Over And Over Again, Melting In The Sun On The White Pavement, Lost In The Fire Of High Noon.

Reality Is As Thin As Paper And Betrays With All Its Cracks Its Imitative Character.