There are no hierarchies, no infinite, no such many as mass, there are only/ eyes in all heads,/ to be looked out of.
The heroes of the present will retreat to the imitation they are anyhow.
You can read everybody. It's not even interesting to tell the truth because to some extent it's false.
All that matters is that the thing be the thing of the thing.
Fact is based upon vulgar matter.
Were all moving, moving, moving. Isnt it nice?