Birth Was The Death Of Him.

Nothing Happens. Nobody Comes, Nobody Goes. It's Awful.

There Is At Least This To Be Said For Mind, That It Can Dispel Mind.

James Joyce Was A Synthesizer, Trying To Bring In As Much As He Could. I Am An Analyzer, Trying To Leave Out As Much As I Can.

I Pause To Record That I Feel In Extraordinary Form. Delirium Perhaps.

If By Godot I Had Meant God I Would Have Said God, And Not Godot.