To Think Is An Act. To Feel

Things Were Somehow So Good That They Were In Danger Of Becoming Very Bad Because What Is Fully Mature Is Very Close To Rotting

Even Great Men Are Only Truly Recognized And Honored Once They Are Dead. Why? Because Those Who Praise Them Need To Feel Themselves Somehow Superior To The Person Praised, They Need To Feel They Are Making Some Concession.

But I Welcome The Darkness Where The Two Eyes Of That Soft Panther Glow. The Darkness Is My Cultural Broth. The Enchanted Darkness. I Go On Speaking To You, Risking Disconnection: I’m Subterraneously Unattainable Because Of What I Know.

And Now -- Now It Only Remains For Me To Light A Cigarette And Go Home. Dear God, Only Now Am I Remembering That People Die. Does That Include Me? Don't Forget, In The Meantime, That This Is The Season For Strawberries. Yes.

I Work Only With Lost And Founds.