The Closet Door Is Open For Me,

The Real America That Whitman Proclaimed And Thoreau Decoded.

Strange Now To Think Of You, Gone Without Corsets & Eyes, While I Walk On The Sunny Pavement Of Greenwich Village. Downtown Manhattan, Clear Winter Noon, And I've Been Up All Night, Talking, Talking, Reading The Kaddish Aloud, Listening To Ray Charles Blues Shout Blind On The Phonograph

It Isn't Enough For Your Heart To Break Because Everybody's Heart Is Broken Now.

You Assume We Are All Sexually Stable; While On The Other Hand, As I Have Become Acquainted With People, I Find That They Are All Perverted Sinners, One Way Or Another, That The Whole Society Is Corrupt And Rotten And Repressed And Unconscious That It Exhibits Its Repression In Various Forms Of Social Sadism.

Recent History Is The Record Of One Vast Conspiracy To Impose One Level Of Mechanical Consciousness On Mankind.