Was It Serious? I Don't Know. It

I Said To Myself, 'if You Don't Sit Down To It Today, When Will You Ever Sit Down To It?'

His Mind Has Become A Refuge For Old Thoughts, Idle, Indigent, With Nowhere Else To Go. He Ought To Chase Them Out, Sweep The Premises Clean. But He Does Not Care To Do So, Or Does Not Care Enough"(72).

One Thought Alone Preoccupies The Submerged Mind Of Empire: How Not To End, How Not To Die, How To Prolong Its Era. By Day It Pursues Its Enemies. It Is Cunning And Ruthless, It Sends Its Bloodhounds Everywhere. By Night It Feeds On Images Of Disaster: The Sack Of Cities, The Rape Of Populations, Pyramids Of Bones, Acres Of Desolation.

It Is Not, Then, In The Content Or Substance Of Folly That Its Difference From Truth Lies, But In Where It Comes From. It Comes Not From 'the Wise Man's Mouth' But From The Mouth Of The Subject Assumed Not To Know And Speak The Truth.

If I, This Mortal Shell, Am Going To Die, Let Me At Least Live On Through My Creations.