It Is Clear Enough By Now To

And Somewhat As In Blind Night, On A Mild Sea, A Sailor May Be Made Aware Of An Iceberg, Fanged And Mortal, Bearing Invisibly Near, By The Unwarned Charm Of Its Breath, Nothingness Now Revealed Itself: That Permanent Night Upon Which The Stars In Their Expiring Generations Are Less Than The Glinting Of Gnats, And Nebulae, More Trivial Than Winter Breath; That Darkness In Which Eternity Lies Bent And Pale, A Dead Snake In A Jar, And Infinity Is The Sparkling Of A Wren Blown Out To Sea; That Inconceivable Chasm Of Invulnerable Silence In Which Cataclysms Of Galaxies Rave Mute As Amber.

For In The Immediate World, Everything Is To Be Discerned, For Him Who Can Discern It, And Central And Simply, Without Either Dissection Into Science, Or Digestion Into Art, But With The Whole Of Consciousness, Seeking To Perceive It As It Stands: So That The Aspect Of A Street In Sunlight Can Roar In The Heart Of Itself As A Symphony, Perhaps As No Symphony Can: And All Of Consciousness Is Shifted From The Imagined, The Revisive, To The Effort To Perceive Simply The Cruel Radiation Of What Is.

I Prefer A Little Free Speech To No Free Speech At All; But How Many Have Free Speech Or The Chance Or The Mind For It; And Is Not Free Speech Here As Elsewhere Clamped Down On In Ratio Of Its Freedom And Danger?

It Is Probably Well On The Conservative Side To Estimate That During The Past Ten To Fifteen Years The Camera Has Destroyed A Thousand Pairs Of Eyes, Corrupted Ten Thousand, And Seriously Deceived A Hundred Thousand, For Every One Pair That It Has Opened, And Taught.

You Must Be In Tune With The Times And Prepared To Break With Tradition.