Way far back in the beginning of the world was the whirlwind warning that we could all be blown away like chips and cry- Men with tired eyes realize it now, and wait to deform and decay- with maybe they have the power of love yet in their hearts just the same, I just don't know what that word means anymore- All I want is an ice cream cone
To the ReaderFolly, error, sin, and penny-pinching Preoccupy our minds and belabor our bodies And we feed our amiable remorse Like beggars nourishing their vermin.Our sins are stubborn, our repentance weak -- We demand generous payment for our confessions And we return gaily to the muddy path, Believing a few abject tears will wash away all of our stains.Satan Trismegistus patiently rocks our enchanted spirit To sleep on the pillow of evil, And the rich metal of our will Is vaporized completely by this learned alchemist.The Devil pulls the strings that move us! Repugnant things attract us -- Each day we descend one step closer to Hell, Moving without horror through stinking shadows.Like a poor debauchee kissing and gnawing The martyred breast of an ancient whore, We steal a furtive pleasure along the way, And we press it hard, like an old orange.Tightly packed, swarming, like a million tapeworms, A legion of Demons booze it up in our brains, And when we breathe, Death, an invisible river, Descends into our lungs, with a dull groan.If rape, poison, the dagger, and arson Have not yet embroidered their pretty patterns On the banal canvas of our pitiful destinies, It is only because our soul is -- alas! -- not bold enough.But among the jackals, panthers, and bitch-hounds, The monkeys, scorpions, vultures, and serpents, The yelping, howling, growling, groveling monsters In the infamous menagerie of our vices,There is one who is uglier, nastier, more foul! Although he makes no grand gestures, no great noise, He would willingly reduce the earth to ruins And swallow the world in a yawn;It is Ennui! His eye brimming with an involuntary teardrop, He dreams of scaffolds while smoking a hookah. You know him, reader, this delicate monster, -- Hypocrite reader, -- my like, -- my brother!
No. You can't. And I can't do anything either, about my life, to change it, make it better, make me feel better about it. Like it better, make it work. But I can stop it. Shut it down, turn it off like the radio when there's nothing on I want to listen to. It's all I really have that belongs to me and I'm going to say what happens to it. And it's going to stop. And I'm going to stop it. So. Let's just have a good time.