Some people believe that we go on living in another body after death, that we lived before. They call it reincarnation. That we all lived before on the earth thousands of years ago or on some other planet. They say we have forgotten it. Some say they remember their past lives.

Every jackass going the roads thinks he has ideas.

People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.

Alone, what did Bloom feel? The cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees below freezing point or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit, Centigrade or Réaumur: the incipient intimations of proximate dawn.

Let us leave theories there and return to here's hear.

A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk.

My mouth is full of decayed teeth and my soul of decayed ambitions.