ROME. ANOTHER DEFEAT. PAUL
HANDS OVER THE GREEN-AND-GOLD
ARMBAND. THE ITALIAN POSTAL
SERVICE ABIDES NERS IN
ITS RANKS.
WELL Paul is bad he has decided to stop fleeing his destiny and he has given himself up at the Nevada monastery and drawn his robes from the supply room and now he is home on leave in his robes. Paul came to the party in his robes. He wasnt allowed to eat or drink anything, or say anything. That was the Rule. We went to the howling party sitting primly along the side of the room in a row, the seven of us and Snow White. Our social intercourse for the quarter. We discussed the bat theory of child-raising with the mothers there meanwhile paying attention to a vat of rum uhe harpsichord. Edward didnt want to discuss the bat theory of child-raising (delicate memories) so he discussed Harald Bluetooth, king of Sdinavia during a certain period, the Blue-tooth period. But the mothers wao talk. "Spare the bat and the child rots," said the mothers. "Rots inside." "But how do you know when to employ it? The magient?" "We have a book which tells us such things," the mothers said. "We look it up in the book. On page 331 begins a twelve-page discussion of batting the baby. A well-worn page." We got away from those mothers as fast as we could. There were a lot of other people talking there, political talk and other kinds of talk. A certain pt for the institutions of society was exhibited. Clem thrust his arm into the bag of sciousness-expanding drugs. His sciousness expanded. He trated his sciousness upon a thumbtip. "Is this the upper extent of knowing, this dermis that I perceive here?" Then he became melancholy, melancholy as a gib cat, melancholy as a jugged hare. "The tent of the giraffe is giraffe meat. Giraffes have high blood pressure because the blood must plod to the brain up te of neck." There were more perceptions and blague. Edgar and Charles wanted some too. But they were not allowed to have any. All they were allowed to do was hold Pauls robes, when he walked around. "Take me home," Snow White said. "Take me home instantly. If there is anything worse than being home, it is being out."
"YOU shouldnt drop yarbage out of windows Hogo," Jane said. I uood what she was saying. But Hogo is a cruel parody of ultimate . His garbage falls on Northerners and Southerners aerners alike. "I had a dream," Jane said. "In the dream we were drinking a yellow wihen the winemaker came in. He said the wine was made of old copies of the National Geographic. I had thought it tasted musty. Then he said no, that was just a joke. The wine was really made of grapes, like every wine. But these were grapes to which the sun had not been kind, he said. They had shriveled for lack of the suns love. That was why the wine was like that. Thealked about lovers and husbands. He said the lover eats his meat with his eyes not on the meat but on the eyes of the beloved. The husband watches the meat. The husband knows that the meat will fly away if not watched. The winemaker thought this was really a funny story. He laughed and laughed." Hogo got ready to say something despicable. But it was too late. "Thats pretty careless," Hubert said, and we all agreed that if you were going to have a girl tied to a bed, then at least the knots should be secure. I had already gotten the flashlight from its plader the sink, and was w on the brilliant yellow and scarlet and blue bandages. We had hoped to slip into the hospital without