Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all, for all this creation, created to fall.

A pain stabbed my heart as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.

And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.

And still the Void is still and'll never move - But I will be the Void, moving without having moved.

Who can leap the world's ties and sit with me among white clouds?

But why think about that when all the golden lands ahead of you and all kinds of unforseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?

Once there was Louis Armstrong blowing his beautiful top in the muds of New Orleans; before him the mad musicians who had paraded on official days and broke up their Sousa marches into ragtime. Then there was swing, and Roy Eldridge, vigorous and virile, blasting the horn for everything it had in waves of power and logic and subtlety - leaning into it with glittering eyes and a lovely smile and sending it out broadcast to rock the jazz world.