The day of how to is gold in markets of democracy where Prometheus unbound calls back his chains and vultures.
Now is the day of the word on the word on the word. Now is the day of rich parasites, of parasitic riches. Psycologically, Sisyphus is happy. Psycologically, happiness is Sisyphus.
A slow boat barnacled with isms goes tothe edge of the world, comes back, if you care to commute. You can ride imagining fathoms up, fathoms down, fathoms out. Seldom a soul returns without friends he does not need. Comes no Ulysses home with strength enough to drive the suitors out.
Now is the day millions cry “O great God mass media, send down the sound to drown centuries of screaming thought.Or we shall blow our brains like a dirty nose.” And still there are golden calves on altars of ennui; and all the weathered while Watchers polish the bones of Shakespeare.
Now is the day of the word game of the boy crying “God” until the word has sound without meaning. Aknaten forcast weather of raining Jews. We pay our money of morals to the egg prophets of the Liliputians.
Now is the day of man footnoted, annotated, abridged for easy reference. Now man is scanned with scribbles of Freud,is given old Greek names for common fears. He dreams in celluoid in symbols of hungry dollars. No one now is laddering Jacob’s climbers.
We die not knowing, not free enough for knowing, not knowing enough for freedom, not even correctly documented.
