The Anarchist Is Dressed All In Black.

It Is A Curve Each Of Them Feels, Unmistakably. It Is The Parabola. They Must Have Guessed, Once Or Twice - Guessed And Refused To Believe - That Everything, Always, Collectively, Had Been Moving Toward That Purified Shape Latent In The Sky, That Shape Of No Surprise, No Second Chance, No Return. Yet They Do Move Forever Under It, Reserved For Its Own Black-and-white Bad News Certainly As If It Were The Rainbow, And They Its Children...

There Is A Theory Going Around That The U.s.a. Was And Still Is A Gigantic Masonic Plot Under The Ultimate Control Of The Group Known As The Illuminati. It Is Difficult To Look For Long At The Strange Single Eye Crowning The Pyramid Which Is Found On Every Dollar Bill And Not Begin To Believe The Story, A Little. Too Many Anarchists In 19th-century Europe—bakunin, Proudhon, Salverio Friscia—were Masons For It To Be Pure Chance. Lovers Of Global Conspiracy, Not All Of Them Catholic, Can Count On The Masons For A Few Good Shivers And Voids When All Else Fails.

Our History Is An Aggregate Of Last Moments

Behind The Hieroglyphic Streets There Would Either Be A Transcendent Meaning, Or Only The Earth.

He Was Visited On A Lunar Basis By These Great Unspecific Waves Of Horniness, Whereby All Women Within A Certain Age Group And Figure Envelope Became Immediately And Impossibly Desirable. He Emerged From These Spells With Eyeballs Still Oscillating And A Wish That His Neck Could Rotate Through The Full 360 Degrees.