Why Have We Had To

You're Like A Witness. You're The One Who Goes To The Museum And Looks At The Paintings. I Mean The Paintings Are There And You're In The Museum Too, Near And Far Away At The Same Time. I'm A Painting. Rocamadour Is A Painting. Etienne Is A Painting, This Room Is A Painting. You Think That You're In The Room But You're Not. You're Looking At The Room, You're Not In The Room.

What Most People Call Loving Consists Of Picking Out A Woman And Marrying Her. They Pick Her Out, I Swear, I’ve Seen Them. As If You Could Pick In Love, As If It Were Not A Lightning Bolt That Splits Your Bones And Leaves You Staked Out In The Middle Of The Courtyard. They Probably Say That They Pick Her Out Because-they-love-her, I Think It’s Just The Siteoppo. Beatrice Wasn’t Picked Out, Juliet Wasn’t Picked Out. You Don’t Pick Out The Rain That Soaks You To A Skin When You Come Out Of A Concert.

Once In A While It Happens That I Vomit Up A Bunny... It's Not Reason For One To Blush And Isolate Oneself And To Walk Around Keeping One's Mouth Shut.

Before Going Back To Sleep I Imagined (i Saw) A Plastic Universe, Changeable, Full Of Wondrous Chance, An Elastic Sky, A Sun That Suddenly Is Missing Or Remains Fixed Or Changes Its Shape.

Happy Was She Who Could Believe Without Seeing, Who Was At One With The Duration And Continuity Of Life.