Now the mountains were getting that pink tinge, I mean the rocks, they were just solid rock covered with the atoms of dust accumulated there since beginningless time. In fact I was afraid of those jagged monstrosities all around and over our heads. "They're so silent!" I said. "Yeah man, you know to me a mountain is a Buddha. Think of the patience, hundreds of thousands of years just sitting there bein perfectly perfectly silent and like praying for all living creatures in that silence and just waitin for us to stop all our frettin and foolin.

Because I cannot write my native language and have no native home anymore, and am amazed by that horrible homelessness of all French-Canadian s abroad in America.

It all ends in tears anyway.

Because the only people for me are the mad ones.

Believe that the world is an ethereal flower, and ye live.

We are nothing. - Tomorrow we may be die. We are nothing. - You and me.

Between incomprehensible and incoherent sits the madhouse. I am not in the madhouse.