New York Is Something Awful, Something Monstrous.

Death Laid Its Eggs In The Wound

The World Is A Shoulder Of Dark Meat (black Flesh Of An Old Mule). And The Light Is On The Other Side.

Love Is The Kiss In The Quiet Nest While The Leaves Are Trembling, Mirrored In The Water.

As I Have Not Worried To Be Born, I Do Not Worry To Die.

I Was Lucky Enough To See With My Own Eyes The Recent Stock-market Crash, Where They Lost Several Million Dollars, A Rabble Of Dead Money That Went Sliding Off Into The Sea. Never As Then, Amid Suicides, Hysteria, And Groups Of Fainting People, Have I Felt The Sensation Of Real Death, Death Without Hope, Death That Is Nothing But Rottenness, For The Spectacle Was Terrifying But Devoid Of Greatness... I Felt Something Like A Divine Urge To Bombard That Whole Canyon Of Shadow, Where Ambulances Collected Suicides Whose Hands Were Full Of Rings.