Between incomprehensible and incoherent sits the madhouse. I am not in the madhouse.
Avoid the world, it's just a lot of dust and drag and means nothing in the end.
It was my dream that screwed up, the stupid hearthside idea that it would be wonderful to follow one great red line across America instead of trying various roads and routes.
I see as much as doors'll allow, open or shut.
And as far as I can see the world is too old for us to talk about it with our new words.
It is not my fault that certain so-called bohemian elements have found in my writings something to hang their peculiar beatnik theories on.