room in my pack for my books....
You know what
I'm taking? Whitman, Baudelaire, and the
Arabian Nights,-right?
Whitman is for
wandering-or sitting by the ocean,
in my tent, reading "Out of the Cradle
Endlessly Rocking." And every night, one
of the
Arabian Nights.
...
Baudelaire i5 probably
too much; that's the first book I leave behind.
-I'm planning to shed my possessions as I go.
That's
all
I'm planning.
I have three shirts,
four pairs of socks ... that's one pair too many,
but I suppose you can't throw good clothes away.
Possessions are ridiculous!
It's what I'm
trying to get away from ...
and even now,
I can't: I've got this
tent,
and this
knife,
and this fucking
backpack,
where I have to keep
my fucking
underwear-
there's no escape.
But anything will be better than this city,
which I don't even want to remember;
-which is going to explode any second,
anyway.... I don't want to be around to
hear it.
I'm an anarchist,-but I'm
a socialist anarchist:
Socialist;
Anarchist; Existentialist.
...
It
makes sense.
Think about it: existentialism
is what you believe; anarchy is what
you do, right? We're all
alone,
right? And we act
alone.
