The Writer Must Be Able To Revel

I Suffered No Pain, My Hunger Had Taken The Edge Off; Instead I Felt Pleasantly Empty, Untouched By Everything Around Me And Happy To Be Unseen By All. I Put My Legs Up On The Bench And Leaned Back, The Best Way To Feel The True Well-being Of Seclusion. There Wasn't A Cloud In My Mind, Nor Did I Feel Any Discomfort, And I Hadn't A Single Unfulfilled Desire Or Craving As Far As My Thought Could Reach. I Lay With Open Eyes In A State Of Utter Absence From Myself And Felt Deliciously Out Of It.

And Love Became The World's Origin And The World's Ruler, Yet Littered Its Path Is With Flowers And Blood, Flowers And Blood.

But Now The World Breaks In On Us, The World Is Shocked, The World Looks Upon Our Idyll As Madness. The World Maintains That No Rational Man Or Woman Would Have Chosen This Way Of Life - Therefore, It Is Madness. Alone I Confront Them And Tell Them That Nothing Could Be Saner Or Truer! What Do People Really Know About Life? We Fall In Line, Follow The Pattern Established By Our Mentors. Everything Is Based On Assumptions; Even Time, Space, Motion, Matter Are Nothing But Supposition. The World Has No New Knowledge To Impart; It Merely Accepts What Is There.

But Now It Was Spring Again, And Spring Was Almost Unbearable For Sensitive Hearts. It Drove Creation To Its Utmost Limits, It Wafted Its Spice-laden Breath Even Into The Nostrils Of The Innocent.

Small Jerks Began To Appear In My Legs, My Walk Became Unsteady Precisely Because I Wanted It To Be Smooth.