It's Never To Late To Do Nothing

No Monster Vibration, No Snake Universe Hallucinations. Many Tiny Jeweled Violet Flowers Along The Path Of A Living Brook That Looked Like Blake's Illustration For A Canal In Grassy Eden: Huge Pacific Watery Shore, Orlovsky Dancing Naked Like Shiva Long-haired Before Giant Green Waves, Titanic Cliffs That Wordsworth Mentioned In His Own Sublime, Great Yellow Sun Veiled With Mist Hanging Over The Planet's Oceanic Horizon. No Harm.

The Fact To Which We Have Got To Cling, As To A Lifebelt, Is That It Is Possible To Be A Normal Decent Person And Yet Be Fully Alive.

Let The Straight Flower Bespeak Its Purpose In Straightness - To Seek The Light. Let The Crooked Flower Bespeak Its Purpose In Crookedness - To Seek The Light. Let The Crookedness And Straightness Bespeak The Light.

We're All Golden Sunflowers Inside.

The Apparition Of An Evil, Sick Unconscious Wild City Rose Before Me In Visible Semblance, And About The Dead Buildings In The Barren Air, The Bodies Of The Soul That Built The Wonderland Shuffled And Stalked And Stalked And Lurched In Attitudes Of Immemorial Nightmare All Around.