He's Not Human; He's An Empty Space

I Am Talking About The General Psychological Health Of The Species, Man. He Needs The Existence Of Mysteries. Not Their Solution.

I Hate The Uneducated And The Ignorant. I Hate The Pompous And The Phoney. I Hate The Jealous And The Resentful. I Hate The Crabbed And Mean And The Petty. I Hate All Ordinary Dull Little People Who Aren't Ashamed Of Being Dull And Little.

I Love Making, I Love Doing. I Love Being To The Full, I Love Everything Which Is Not Sitting And Watching And Copying And Dead At Heart.

Forgetting’s Not Something You Do, It Happens To You. Only It Didn’t Happen To Me.

I Am One In A Row Of Specimens. It's When I Try To Flutter Out Of Line That He Hates Me. I'm Meant To Be Dead, Pinned, Always The Same, Always Beautiful. He Knows That Part Of My Beauty Is Being Alive. But It's The Dead Me He Wants. He Wants Me Living-but-dead.