Writing At Least Is A Silent Meditation

I Took A Straight Picture That Made Me Look Like A Thirty-year-old Italian Who'd Kill Anybody Who Said Something Against His Mother.

It Was My Dream That Screwed Up, The Stupid Hearthside Idea That It Would Be Wonderful To Follow One Great Red Line Across America Instead Of Trying Various Roads And Routes.

As Early Pioneers In The Knowing, That When You Lose Your Reason, You Attain Highest Perfect Knowing.

What A Horror It Would Have Been If The World Was Real, Because If The World Was Real, It Would Be Immortal.

Be Crazy Dumbsaint Of The Mind.