Man Was Entering Under False Pretenses The

My Ideal Goal Is To "mature" Into Childhood. That Would Be Genuine Maturity.

As We Manipulate Everyday Words, We Forget That They Are Fragments Of Ancient And Eternal Stories, That We Are Building Our Houses With Broken Pieces Of Sculptures And Ruined Statues Of Gods As The Barbarians Did.

Now The Windows, Blinded By The Glare Of The Empty Square, Had Fallen Asleep. The Balconies Declared Their Emptiness To Heaven; The Open Doorways Smelt Of Coolness And Wine.

There Are Things Than Cannot Ever Occur With Any Precision. They Are Too Big And Too Magnificent To Be Contained In Mere Facts. They Are Merely Trying To Occur, They Are Checking Whether The Ground Of Reality Can Carry Them. And They Quickly Withdraw, Fearing To Loose Their Integrity In The Frailty Of Realization.

And One's Wandering Proved As Sterile And Pointless As The Excitement Produced By A Close Study Of Pornographic Albums.