Peering From Some High Window; At The

I Am Someone Who Proudly And Humbly Affirms That Love Is The Mystery-of-mysteries, And That Nothing Measurable Matters 'a Very Good God Damn'; That 'an Artist, A Man, A Failure' Is No Mere Whenfully Accreting Mechanism, But A Givingly Eternal Complexity-neither Some Soulless And Heartless Ultrapredatory Infra-animal Nor Any Understandingly Knowing And Believing And Thinking Automaton, But A Naturally And Miraculously Whole Human Being-a Feelingly Illimitable Individual; Whose Only Happiness Is To Transcend Himself, Whose Every Agony Is To Grow.

The Moon Rattles Like A Fragment Of Angry Candy

Nothing Recedes Like Progress.

So, When Kiss Spring Comes We'll Kiss Each Kiss Other On Kiss The Kiss Lips Because Tic Clocks Tock Don't Make A Toctic Difference To Kisskiss You And To Kiss Me.

Be Of Love A Little More Careful Than Of Anything.