I Am Clever Enough To Know That

There Are Times When The Air That Floats Between Mortals Becomes, In Its Stillness And Silence, As Cruel As The Edge Of A Scythe.

And There Shall Be A Flame-green Daybreak Soon. And Love Itself Will Cry For Insurrection! For Tomorrow Is Also A Day - And Titus Has Entered His Stronghold.

There Is A Kind Of Laughter That Sickens The Soul. Laughter When It Is Out Of Control: When It Screams And Stamps Its Feet, And Sets The Bells Jangling In The Next Town. Laughter In All Its Ignorance And Cruelty. Laughter With The Seed Of Satan In It. It Tramples Upon Shrines; The Belly-roarer. It Roars, It Yells, It Is Delirious: And Yet It Is As Cold As Ice. It Has No Humor. It Is Naked Noise And Naked Malice.

What Is Time... That You Speak Of It So Subserviently? Are We To Be The Slaves Of The Sun, That Second-hand, Overrated Knob Of Gilt, Or Of His Sister, That Fatuous Circle Of Silver Paper? A Curse Upon Their Ridiculous Dictatorship!

Oh How I Hate People!