Life ,for Eternal Us,is Now

We Can Never Be Born Enough.

Suppose Life Is An Old Man Carrying Flowers On His Head.

The Symbol Of All Art Is The Prism. The Goal Is Unrealism. The Method Is Destructive. To Break Up The White Light Of Objective Realism, Into The Secret Glories Which It Contains.

...remember One Thing Only: That It's You-nobody Else-who Determines Your Destiny And Decides Your Fate. Nobody Else Can Be Alive For You; Nor Can You Be Alive For Anybody Else.

Meanwhile Myself Et Cetera Lay Quietly In The Deep Mud Et Cetera (dreaming, Et Cetera, Of Your Smile Eyes Knees And Of Your Etcetera.)