I Am A Book I Neither Wrote

Each Minute Bursts In The Burning Room,the Great Globe Reels In The Solar Fire,spinning The Trivial And Unique Away.(how All Things Flash! How All Things Flare!)what Am I Now That I Was Then?may Memory Restore Again And Againthe Smallest Color Of The Smallest Day:time Is The School In Which We Learn,time Is The Fire In Which We Burn.

O Your Life, Your Lonely Lifewhat Have You Ever Done With It,and Done With The Great Gift Of Consciousness?what Will You Ever Do Before Death's Knifeprovides The Answer Ultimate And Appropriate?as I For My Part Felt In My Heart As One Who Falls,falls In A Parachute, Falls Endlessly, And Feels The Vastdraft Of The Abyss Sucking Him Down And Down,an Endlessly Helplessly Falling And Appalled Clown:this Is The Way The Night Passes By, Thisis The Overnight Endless Trip To The Famous Unfathomable Abyss.

Major Writing Is To Say That Which Has Been Seen, So That It Need Never Be Said Again; So That Which Has Been Seen Increases, Changes In Reality, In Being.

Literary Party: A Traffic Jam Of The Lost Waiting For The Ferry Across The Styx.

Literature Doesn't Matter! The Only Thing That Matters Is Money And Getting Your Teeth Fixed!