In This World, Goodness Is Destined To

It Is Not A Bad Thing To Settle For The Little Way, Not The Big Search For The Big Happiness But The Sad Little Happiness Of Drinks And Kisses, A Good Little Car And A Warm Deep Thigh.

The Mystery Lies In The Here And Now. The Mystery Is: What Is One To Do With Oneself? As You Get Older You Begin To Realize The Trick Time Is Playing, And That Unless You Do Something About It, The Passage Of Time Is Nothing But The Encroachment Of The Horrible Banality Of The Past On The Pure Future. The Past Devours The Future Like A Tape Recorder, Converting Pure Possibility Into Banality. The Present Is The Tape Head, The Mouth Of Time. Then Where Is The Mystery And Why Bother Kicking Through The Ashes? Because There Is A Clue In The Past.

Before, I Wandered As A Diversion. Now I Wander Seriously And Sit And Read As A Diversion.

Nobody But A Southerner Knows The Wrenching Rinsing Sadness Of The Cities Of The North.

Hatred Strikes Me As One Of The Few Signs Of Life Remaining In The World. This Is Another Thing About The World Which Is Upsidedown: All The Friendly And Likable People Seem Dead To Me; Only The Haters Seem Alive.