All I want to do is sit on my ass and fart and think of Dante.

I don't know why I told this story. I could just as well have told another. Perhaps some other time I'll be able to tell another. Living souls, you will see how alike they are.

I am still alive then. That may come in useful.

They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.

I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.

Name, no, nothing is nameable, tell, no, nothing can be told, what then, I don't know, I shouldn't have begun.

Humbly to ask a favour of people who are on the point of knocking your brains out sometimes produces good results.