The Underground Lady [Page Twenty-two]

The Bohemian:  I am the one who comes shuffling into the sick-room on the last evening, with a basket full of flowers—because otherwise no one would be there.

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Corpus delicti:  A young friend of mine, who didn’t know the expression, thought that it sounded like a tasty Italian treat.

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I prefer gallows humor to the spectacle of the gallows. 

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Don’t plan on being quoted much, and let them go ahead and quote away, with all sorts of commentary and slander.  Let publishers sue.  Let writers howl.  Let the world become ensnared in its own traps.  And I’ll show up in your defense.  I’ve always wanted a showdown in a court of law.  Words should be tested under the most severe cross examination.

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The change in perception affected by hashish is associative, yes, but it is also an expansion.  While the associative faculties are increased, and undergo a mutation, something enters in at the corner of our awareness—or perhaps it’s always there but we only notice it when we are in this state.  It is a kind of tremor in the self.  We are more open to others, and more likely to express our affection for them, or our disdain, if that’s the case, and yet beyond even this there is a definite ripple in the fabric of the self’s construction. 

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If it’s especially good hashish, and if we’re paying very close attention, there is a flickering, just for a moment, when we think the “I” might go out and vanish, leaving us naked before the world.  Unlike with strong hallucinogens, this total collapse doesn’t occur, but the threat, the inkling, of its happening is perhaps more startling to our sense of continuity because it is experienced from within our protective barriers.  It is like the sound you hear in the middle of the night, but can never be sure of, as compared to the full-on invasion, which must be confronted and understood once and for all.  These more enigmatic disturbances leave traces, and echoes, that often last for the rest of our lives.

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I care nothing for the preening self-congratulation of the political class.  It reminds me of having someone come over to rob your house and then taking the time to call another thief to come over and give him praise on his good form.

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Politicians and their commentators are leftovers from an age before people realized that democracy means we can do better without them.

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The best place for the government is in the mail.  The post is one of the few tolerable functions of an otherwise worthless fucking machine.

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Fuck is not vulgar.  That is not what should be meant by vulgarity at all.  For instance, in the 70’s, when it came to light that the CIA used the word terminate to mean murder, that is what should be meant by vulgarity.

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I just realized that this is really more a collocation than a collage.

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