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Stone Free November 24, 2013

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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What does it matter if I am cast out by Moloch, if the phantasm of modern banking grinds on without me? My talents that way are exhausted; I only observe the forms without rigor or commitment. To become what I wish, what I ought to be, requires the freedom of poverty of the wandering Japanese poet, to be as free as Henry Miller lost in Paris without a sou, free to wander the streets and haunt the libraries, free to stalk the Word as avidly as the Kabbalist counting out the names of god.

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