the central parable contrasts this with a far memory, far from the last it ends there, I end there creation of useful goods an honest but uninfluential man concludes with a vision my own influence far from sufficient of Hell oh and why not? populated by perverters to return to his home of long age then, well worth having, that must be stone forest growing from water what was bound would probably impose grouping phrases, words, images to happen a great burden leave all that. was this? I of work upon me Ovid, Propertius, Catullus, would Roland, Daniel, exemplum be Who is speaking? What matter? misunderstood fragments constellate a departure, I'll be there, I won't to form a clear song it won't be me, I won't say anything inert indolent lotus eaters I'll stop thinking. a contrast to that activity I would probably require support a story, all is false, there is no one. a nexus of survival all that is needed to live again destruction of the Cathar stronghold to end the Albigensian Crusade destruction of Troy, voyage to the Holy Land, closing lines return from here and go elsewhere echoes the ruin of eblis then back here, getting to tomorrow on transatlantic flight return to the world of the clear song the self-abnegation a week in spring, all past and done. by the caution a glimpse of the printer reproach, palliated in exasperation all inquiries an unavoidable tempus loquendi, tempus tacendi compelled to undertake anew general indefinite wobble the worst thing that could happen of decaying Mitteleuropa I drew my conclusions. my words one might have thought nobody Donna mi pregha, Eriugena condemned? had ever, I the first The man who made the tempest? I refrained from reading it to draw conclusions. I should have finished my own labors. unsystematically assembled the problem of purchasing power and in part misunderstood evidence returns to the island of Circe must evoke incredulity events before the voyage under among the public no less than the educated taken a hymn to ritual sex conspiracy against the public a periplous, another lament on the waste of war