The Death Of God Left The Angels

Now, Here Is The Point About The Self: It Is Insatiable. It Is Always, Always Hankering. It Is What You Might Call Rapacious To A Fault. The Great Flaming Mouth To The Thing Is Never In This World Going To Be Stuff Full.

The Question So Often Asked Of Modern Painting, "what Is It?", Contains More Than The Dull Skepticism Of The Man Who Is Not Going To Have The Wool Pulled Over His Eyes. It Speaks Of A Fundamental Placement In Relation To The Work, That Of A Voyager In The World Coming Upon A Strange Object. The Reader Reconstitutes The Work By His Active Participation, By Approaching The Object, Tapping It, Shaking It, Holding It To His Ear To Hear The Roaring Within. It Is Characteristic Of The Object That It Does Not Declare Itself All At Once, In A Rush Of Pleasant Naïveté.

Faint Equivalents Can Sometimes Be Found ... . Or It Can Be Rendered Obliquely-an Adolescent's Mental Image Of His Or Her Parents Making Love, Which Must Be Something On The Order Of Crocodiles Mating.

Can The Life Of The Time Be Caught In An Advertisement? Is That How It Is, Really, In The Meadows Of The World?

People Always Like To Hear That They're Under Stress, Makes Them Feel Better. You Can Imagine What They'd Feel If They Were Told They Weren't Under Stress.