By David Eide  

During one dark night of the soul, machines became enemies And I swear, from the balcony, I could see the old bridges ferrying the dead into the lit-up desolate city. So I went to the book store to listen to the booksellers talk, some graphic book on China and when they had been in China, dipping their hands in the Yangtze, Working two months on a commune, "it almost killed me." An inquiry in the metaphysics section brought on emphatic gestures. China was there in the clouds, in the darkness behind the soiled books and far off laughter. Pretty women came and went, tittering over the pornographic poetry; the rage in the crazy city, graffiti on the womb of a beautiful city. And the professor was around intimidating the uninitiated Patching himself up to appear absolutely credible, hiding a Perfidious soul, a mind calculated to hurt, even destroy the Uninitiated. Hoping, soon, there would be chaos and the victims Dependent on him. And sensing I was confused he tossed me a collection of Juvenal, "This'll take the sting away," he said with irritation, even disgust.