Walking from the scene of some humiliation feeling like a dog. Walking fromthe scene of some romantic triumph feeling like God.
Walk towards the small town lights felt brighter than the lot of them. Canhave everything, can never fail. The will to power, the force of destinyand efficiency. Generations glimpse the high pitch, play it for real.
Four billion spectators look on, judging, analysing, losing, sinking,sinking, swimming, striving, longing, failing. Weak flesh projectedthrough Europe on the speed of all the needs, suck and sate, forces offate. A polemic, a sharp cutter, a fashion, a spirit, a simplicity. Theonly choice, the only voice in the darkness. The only choice, the onlyvoice. 1933, where are you now? Where are the broken bottles? Where'sthe toffs slumming it? Where's the fanaticism? Where's truth and beauty?
Where's truth and beauty?
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