I'm ranting and I've raving too - I've been struck
through with the silver lance and cauterized by a
forest fire. I howl, and my fair mouth quivers in
a scream. I hold this horse's head screaming down
to the ground - some Guernica of my own admission :
enticing blood and carnage, cutting tribes in two.
Women, children, babies, flaming droplets from
the sky. Who wants to own just a lazy afternoon?
The cripples have come back from the show : now they're
playing records backwards, to make sure Paul is still
dead, or the Mayor of Casterbridge still has his awards.
They slop and they drool, they pillage at sun-up and
sleep through their meals. Bastards and fools, all.
I am walking sideways in my sleep right into their
dreams - I can see what they mean by parting their
curtains. Intuit the ending. Learn the meaning of all
that's said. Dim lights. Strong Sessions. Clean the slate.
All precautions have been turned off again.