Unholy Battered Old Thing You Were, My

What Sphinx Of Cement And Aluminium Bashed Open Their Skulls And Ate Up Their Brains And Imagination

You Are What You Think About All Day.

So I Had A Choice Between Going To A Jail Or Going To A Bughouse Like A Nice Young Middle-class Student. So I Chose To Go To A Very Polite Mental Hospital. When I Left Eight Months Later, They Said, 'you Were Never Psychotic. You Were Just An Average Neurotic.'

I Am Neither Romantic Nor A Visionary, And That Is My Weakness And Perhaps My Power; At Any Rate It Is One Difference. In Less Romantic And Visionary Terms, I Am A Jew, (with Powers Of Introspection And Eclecticism Attendant, Perhaps.) But I Am Alien To Your Natural Grace, To The Spirit Which You Would Know As A Participator In America.

The Soul Is Innocent And Immortal, It Should Never Die Ungodly In An Armed Madhouse.