Fictions of the Interlude

'Only a great intuition can act as a compass in the wastelands of the soul; only with a sense which utilizes intelligence, but does not resemble it, although in this respect it becomes one with it, can one distinguish these dream figures in their reality ...'

And then we discover they are the same...Fussy

penalties for love of oblivion or for luck through oblivion, fucking rhythm and sorrow, An obvious ruin A piece of rubber bobbing like a dolphin on a bustling street when it comes up to the empty boat, climbs on