These hurrying
ones with their tired faces and eager shoulders are my brothers and
sisters sharing with me the spectacle they make. They are a
disillusioning mirror in which I see myself a million times. Yes, they
look back at me, and their weariness, their hopelessness saddens me. Man
sees himself by gazing into the world--and is overcome. It is only a
lunatic who can keep merry in the face of so monstrous an image.

"My happiness is without merriment. I return quickly. I have already the
habit of coherence. In a few hours I will go back again and begin with
canvas and paint once more. My madness is a lost argument. I am a little
tired. But, alas, he who has danced and slept with Medusa goes home
weary.

"It will take time before my amusement ripens into rages. And without
rages work is impossible. I will wait. Now I am too indifferent for
anything but happiness. It is easy to walk and forget one's self and
one's senses. It will come back. Mallare will return and expend himself
naively in decorations once more.

"When I am strong again I will hunt up a woman. Poor Rita, whom I have
murdered twice, illustrating the paradox of possession. Man, the slave
of his senses, possesses only what his five masters offer him as gifts.

"I will find a clever one this time whom jests do not frighten. One who
does not burn incense before her vagina and cover it with an altar
piece. How unctuously women embrace ideas which increase the value and
importance of their urinal ducts! Modesty, morality, prurience, piety,
are the effulgent underwear behind which they increase the mystery and
charm of the mons veneris. Alas, they are the artists of sex and not
men. Man has even thrown away the seductive cod-piece. The origins of
ideas are varied and multiple. But whatever their origins, it is women
who utilize them. What an incredible sex! Vaginomaniacs.

"I will hunt up a vulgar woman, one who does not piously regard her
vulva as an orifice to be approached with Gregorian chants. I must be
careful to avoid those veteran masturbators marching heroically under
the gonfalons of virginity. It is a difficult business, finding a woman.
A modest one will offend my intellect. A shameless one will harass my
virility. A stupid one will be unable to appreciate my largess. An
intelligent one will penetrate my impotency.

"But why women? The devil take them all. I am almost tired of the
disillusions they have to offer. The homely ones go away grate