The times of one’s life when galvanization reaches one through inchoate sludge, when the stomach protests, the liver strikes, and the colon demands fair wages.

The reign in a fire when all the spirits agree they will never be found, the sappers dig Dwarven thrones in a deep place, and every lobster seeks a new pair of scissors.

Only in one time are these considered merriment; the time of clockwork. Evil clockwork that brings the wooden moons down with leers and a snicker.

Seen from a lotus pad all heights are equal. Seen from a cloud is bliss. Bliss is unfounded in science. She is well known to Voltaire, befuddles Chateaubriand, laughs in Demosthenes’ prostitution house amid the legs of boys. And the one drunkard who sees this shall be stricken with the Curse of Tutankhamen, as written in all gospels that defy good news and are majordomo of suicide.

Hotels are geometrically appealing to ghosts, whose only corporeal want is a public dance floor, and whose eyes still recall a fat bosom. As busboys ignore them shall Confucius publish The Analects; in primitive binding, apparent in its lack of interest.

Six numerals are relevant in Rome, three in Greece, and a drumstick in Turkey. Paris is mistress of all these. The emeute is the indolent worker’s pavement stripper, as the ivy is a house’s last call to oblivion. Yawning cloacae number seven always, a means of counterbalancing luck and the indescribable mystery of human end-products. Similar to the fertilizer of Olympus, frigid.

An airplane’s only purpose is the enforcement of crudity. A rooster’s is propagation and annoyance. And the greatest question to plague the complexion of a lady thinker is the opposite of the man’s question.

Ill literacy is worse than illiteracy.

Establish a bastardy and you will have imitated your antediluvian origins. Please invite me.