My Ideal Goal Is To

And One's Wandering Proved As Sterile And Pointless As The Excitement Produced By A Close Study Of Pornographic Albums.

Yet What Is To Be Done With Events That Have No Place Of Their Own In Time; Events That Have Occurred Too Late, After The Whole Of Time Has Been Distributed, Divided, And Allotted; Events That Have Been Left In The Cold, Unregistered, Hanging In The Air, Homeless, And Errant?

Man Was Entering Under False Pretenses The Sphere Of Incredible Facilities, Acquired Too Cheaply, Below Cost Price, Almost For Nothing, And The Disproportion Between Outlay And Gain, The Obvious Fraud On Nature, The Excessive Payment For A Trick Of Genius, Had To Be Offset By Self-parody.

Could It Be That Time Is Too Narrow For All Events? Could It Happen That All The Seats Within Time Might Have Been Sold? Worried, We Run Along The Train Of Events, Preparing Ourselves For The Journey.

...."the Sound Of A Barrel Organ Rising From The Deepest Golden Vein Of The Day; Two Or Three Bars Of A Chorus, Played On A Distant Piano Over And Over Again, Melting In The Sun On The White Pavement, Lost In The Fire Of High Noon.