Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.

Until the day when, your endurance gone, in this world for you without arms, you catch up in yours the first mangy cur you meet, carry it for the time needed for it to love it and you it, then throw it away.

You would do better, at least no worse, to obliterate texts than to blacken margins, to fill in the holes of words till all is blank and flat and the whole ghastly business looks like what it is, senseless, speechless, issueless misery.

No painting is more replete than Mondrian's.

Be again, be again. (Pause.) All that old misery. (Pause.) Once wasn't enough for you.

The essential is to go on squirming forever at the end of the line, as long as there are waters and banks and ravening in heaven asporting God to plague his creature, per pro his chosen shits.

There is at least this to be said for mind, that it can dispel mind.