The Patience Of Poverty. In Rice Fields,

I Shall Speak Of How Melancholy And Utopia Preclude One Another. How They Fertilize One Another... Of The Revulsion That Follows One Insight And Precedes The Next... Of Superabundance And Surfeit. Of Stasis In Progress. And Of Myself, For Whom Melancholy And Utopia Are Heads And Tails Of The Same Coin.

As A Child I Was A Great Liar. Fortunately My Mother Liked My Lies. I Promised Her Marvelous Things.

...i Remain Restless And Dissatisfied; What I Knot With My Right Hand, I Undo With My Left, What My Left Hand Creates, My Right Fist Shatters

An Empty Bus Hurtles Through The Starry Night Perhaps The Driver Is Singing And Happy Because He Sings.

Can It Be That Action Is Active Resignation? Something Is Trying To Develop; It Moves Ever So Slightly, And There Comes Your Man Of Action And Bashes In The Hothouse Windows.