(from The Dream Songs) 14 Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we outselves flash and yearn, and moreover my mothe told me as a boy (reapeatedly) 'Ever to confess you're bored means you have no Inner Resources.' I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavily bored. People bore me, literature bores me, especially great liteature, Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes as bad as achilles, who loves people and valiant art, which bores me. And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag and somwhow a dog has taken itself & its tail considerably away into mountains or sea or sky, leaving behind: me, wag. |
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