Truth Is Dissent, Where All Power Resides

Strange Now To Think Of You, Gone Without Corsets & Eyes, While I Walk On The Sunny Pavement Of Greenwich Village. Downtown Manhattan, Clear Winter Noon, And I've Been Up All Night, Talking, Talking, Reading The Kaddish Aloud, Listening To Ray Charles Blues Shout Blind On The Phonograph

Inside Skull Vast As Outside Skull

Because Systems Of Mass Communication Can Communicate Only Officially Acceptable Levels Of Reality, No One Can Know The Extent Of The Secret Unconscious Life. No One In America Can Know What Will Happen. No One Is In Real Control.

We Are All Exposed To The Flash Bulb Of Death.

In My Dreams You Walk Dripping From A Sea Journey On The Highway Across America In Tears To The Door Of My Cottage In The Western Night