My Body Seems A Mere Encumbrance To

The Printed Page Was Like Wine To Me.

I See In The Papers Where Roy Guthrie Committed Suicide. Why, I Wonder?

I Live, I Burn With Life, I Love, I Slay, & Am Content.

Time And Times Are But Cogwheels, Unmatched, Grinding On Oblivious To One Another. Occasionally - Oh, Very Rarely! - The Cogs Fit; The Pieces Of The Plot Snap Together Momentarily And Give Men Faint Glimpses Beyond The Veil Of This Everyday Blindness We Call Reality.

The People Among Which I Lived - And Yet Live, Mainly - Made Their Living From Cotton, Wheat, Cattle, Oil, With The Usual Percentage Of Business Men And Professional Men.