Goodbye, Everybody! (suicide Note)

Your Primary Presumption That The Bridge Was Proffered As An Epic Has No Substantial Foundation. You Know Quite Well That I Doubt That Our Present Stage Of Cultural Development Is So Ordered Yet As To Provide The Means Or Method For Such An Organic Manifestation As That.

I Cannot Figure Out Just What Dadaism Is Beyond An Insane Jumble Of The Four Winds, The Six Senses, And Plum Pudding. But If The Baroness Is To Be A Keystone For It, — Then I Think I Can Possibly Know When It Is Coming And Avoid It.

The Form Of My Poem Rises Out Of A Past That So Overwhelms The Present With Its Worth And Vision That I'm At A Loss To Explain My Delusion That There Exist Any Real Links Between That Past And A Future Worthy Of It.

Stars Scribble On Our Eyes The Frosty Sagas, The Gleaming Cantos Of Unvanquished Space. (cape Hatteras

[the Essences Of Things] Are Suspended On The Invisible Dimension Whose Vibrance Has Been Denied The Human Eye At All Times Save In The Intuition Of Ecstasy.