I Listened To Them Fade Away Till

Me And Norman Mailer Have Talked About How Hard It Is In America To Get Better. Especially At Writing.

What We Hoped Was That We Could Stop The Coming End Of The World.

He Was In His Chair In The Corner, Resting A Second Before He Came Out For The Next Round -- In A Long Line Of Next Rounds. The Thing He Was Fighting, You Couldn't Whip It For Good. All You Could Do Was Keep On Whipping It, Till You Couldn't Come Out Anymore And Somebody Else Had To Take Your Place.

The Raw Materials Of Reality Without The Glue Of Time Are Materials Adrift And Reality Is As Meaningless As The Balsa Parts Of A Model Airplane Scattered To The Wind.

Then The Trembling Starts To Get Worse. This Must Be How They Begin, He Thinks. Freak-outs. Breakdowns. Crack-ups. Eventually Shut-ins And Finally Cross-offs. But First The Cover-up . . .