The Suicide, As She Is Falling, Illuminated

To Take My Work Seriously Would Be The Height Of Folly.

Mr Earbrass Stands On The Terrace At Twilight. It Is Bleak; It Is Cold; And The Virtue Has Gone Out Of Everything. Words Drift Through His Mind: Anguish Turnips Conjunctions Illness Defeat String Parties No Parties Urns Desuetude Disaffection Claws Loss Trebizond Napkins Shame Stones Distance Fever Antipodes Mush Glaciers Incoherence Labels Miasma Amputation Tides Deceit Mourning Elsewards.

This Is The Theory… That Anything That Is Art… Is Presumably About Some Certain Thing, But Is Really Always About Something Else, And It’s No Good Having One Without The Other, Because If You Just Have The Something It Is Boring And If You Just Have The Something Else It’s Irritating.

I Realize That Homosexuality Is A Serious Problem For Anyone Who Is - But Then, Of Course, Heterosexuality Is A Serious Problem For Anyone Who Is, Too. And Being A Man Is A Serious Problem And Being A Woman Is, Too. Lots Of Things Are Problems.

If You're Doing Nonsense It Has To Be Rather Awful, Because There'd Be No Point. I'm Trying To Think If There's Sunny Nonsense. Sunny, Funny Nonsense For Children — Oh, How Boring, Boring, Boring. As Schubert Said, There Is No Happy Music. And That's True, There Really Isn't. And There's Probably No Happy Nonsense, Either.