I Believe That Because I Had Obtained

The Privileged Classes Can Afford Psychoanalysis And Whiskey. Whereas All We Get Is Sermons And Sour Wine. This Is Manifestly Unfair. I Protest, Silently.

The World Is Sagging, Snagging, Scaling, Spalling, Pilling, Pinging, Pitting, Warping, Checking, Fading, Chipping, Cracking, Yellowing, Leaking, Stalling, Shrinking, And In Dynamic Unbalance.

Yes, Success Is Everything. Failure Is More Common. Most Achieve A Sort Of Middling Thing, But Fortunately One's Situation Is Always Blurred, You Never Know Absolutely Quite Where You Are.

Naked Girls With The Heads Of Marx And Malraux Prone And Helpless In The Glare Of The Headlights, Tried To Give Them A Little Joie De Vivre But Maybe It Didn't Take, Their Constant Bickering And Smallness, It's Like A Stroke Of Lightning, The World Reminds You Of Its Power, Tracheotomies Right And Left, I Am Spinning, My Pretty Child, Don't Scratch, Pick Up Your Feet, The Long Nights, Spent Most Of My Time Listening, This Is A Test Of The System, This Is Only A Test.

I Keep Wondering If, Say, There Is Intelligent Life On Other Planets, The Scientists Argue That Something Like Two Percent Of The Other Planets Have The Conditions, The Physical Conditions, To Support Life In The Way It Happened Here, Did Christ Visit Each And Every Planet, Go Through The Same Routine, The Agony In The Garden, The Crucifixion, And So On.