The warmth wonders. And he, basically like any other
human being was is and will be interested in watching wonders although utterly
not surprised to observe them happening. It is as sure as death that you would
also be not surprised to seize ‘em if you didn’t notice them, did you, would
you? Doubtlessly he’s not the one to blame for it.
By Mother Nature he was produced in that special, that
most wonderfully unmarvelous and disgusting as well way that he, to tell the
truth, stood absolutely no chance to catch sight of the first and the main and
the most sentimental for nothing wonder of his hole life-term. Quite sinful a
wonder of wonders that would wander its way from the very fleshy desires. Ah,
this wonderful world! Viva el mundo, viva la vida! Perversity fathers
innocence, filthiness – purity. Passion was the reason for it and him. The sin
was the nurse, the clerk and the rhyme.
The Roman hill, an arrow struck by Eros and the Tiber
seasoned with a couple of pints of salt and here he goes, from there he’s come.
Ave! Ave! Morituri te salutant! What the hell the Romans were thinking ’bout?
Shame, shame on them! Witty barbarians, scholars and artists, actors and
orators, whores and sluts. They spoke and taught and thought of Styx etcetera.
Reincarnated. Fell. And felt like keeping on falling and fell outside.
Once red – for ever white. He spied on them foundering
and now as they were not avalanching him bull’s-eyely, they felt the same, he
felt himself, he felt the same.
…
R. A. O’Rayne