Knowledge Is The Harvest Of Attention

What Can We Do When Even The Public Conveyances Sing? How Can We Go Anywhere, Even Cross-town How Get Out Of Anywhere

An American Is A Complex Of Occasions, Themselves A Geometry Of Spatial Nature.

Dead, Hung Up Indoors, The Kingfisher Will Not Indicate A Favoring Wind, Or Avert The Thunderbolt.

My Life Has Been Given Its Orders: The Seasons Seize The Soul And The Body, And Make Mock Of Any Dispersed Effort. The Hour Of Death Is The Only Trespass

One Perception Must Immediately And Directly Lead To A Further Perception