"Be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before God, for God is in heaven, and thou upon earth; therefore let thy words be few./ For a dream cometh through a multitude of business; and a fool's voice is known by multitude of words."
It's like, 'This also is vanity,' etc. etc. etc.
There's a far distance to go, if you wish to travel it.
The weak and the strong alike perish from the earth and nobody knows what crops up after them. A hundred years, two hundred years: death and tranquility bloom everywhere; the hardness of bestial endurance and the sweet spleen of vegetable idiocy.
-ART IS A HISTORY, just like personhood. It's best to draw art out of the wish to STILL be truthful, in the face of the monstrous need of survival. Survival is not as great as the thought that crystallizes it as a thing-choice-pastime-act of will. To see a thing as act of will is to have the greater power.
-LAST NIGHT, my wonderous thoughts. I couldn't sleep, though I was practically in a state of sleep as I reflected. Too tired to find a PEN, but my mind moved around like a starfish for five hours or six hours, prying everything open, regenerating its problems. For some individuals, this is simply a lifestyle. Thankfully few individuals. (They're a nuisance population.)
-SCHOLARLY WORK: Once you're in the real world for a while (inane shit every day to produce revenue for someone and complete 'projects') you have a better perspective on the full world that scholarly knowledge is a part of, how to write it up, what's top-importance. 'THAT WHICH DIFFERS FROM' the inane bullshit determined by capitalism.
-WHY LET YOURSELF BE UNHAPPY? Every character in this dance comes out preposterous.
-WHAT'S THE ITCH UP IN THE THROAT BY THE HEART? Joyful expectation, like an itchy clog of sand, like a sneeze or ejaculation coming on and postponed: the rawness of nerve endings.
-FATES, FINITUDE. Eternity of guesswork. -A nice fat ass and a sweet musical voice. Why dream about perfect satisfaction? Because your intuition has convinced you: things LACK, LACK, LACK.
-Manhattan is this last irremovable sliver of granite in the sluice of the great Northeastern drainage system. A sliver that has not been rubbed down yet.
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