I Have Not Been A Success, And

I Live, I Burn With Life, I Love, I Slay, & Am Content.

The Poem You Sent Me Was As Fiery And Virile As Anything You've Ever Written - Or Anybody Else, For That Matter. Especially The Second Part Went To My Brain Like The Flaming Liquor Of Insanity. No One Else Besides Jack London Has The Power To Move Me Just That Way.

I See In The Papers Where Roy Guthrie Committed Suicide. Why, I Wonder?

Wits And Swords Are As Straws Against The Wisdom Of The Darkness.

The Sea-road Is Good For Wanderers And Landless Men. There Is Quenching Of Thirst On The Grey Paths Of The Winds, And The Flying Clouds To Still The Sting Of Lost Dreams.