20
\
THE ANTIPHILOSOPHER
When the eyes transcend their orbit the cravat of
the branches strangles the English foliage dressed in
high silk hat white gloves and patent leather slippers
of ardent chlorophyl. What said my friend you do not
believe in the existence of parallels even though they
prolong and renew themselves. The finale of symphony
is hard the music cannot end without cutting up the
fragments of beauty into yet smaller pieces and be
ginning over again. It is too bad said he again we
shall never know whether it is the wind that bends
the blade of grass or the blade of grass that bends
the wind. Put the grass in some place where there is
no wind — i believe in neither common sense nor
paradox. My plane has no wind no grass it has no
place it has no flies. Live without reaction without
moods without false tempests. My plane loves ennui and
the uncertain colors and the bisexual paths my plane
resembles all other planes and its men all other men
good God there is no happiness anywhere life passes
as it passes the only happiness is to know ennui the
poet-insects shut themselves up in their towers of choco
late on the mountain of Zarathustra they are the gen
iuses who with their secretaries go into town twice a
day to telephone to the printer and measure by the
scale of animal pride the results of their compromises.
My dear Tzara let us have done with the purity and
the impurity of the mind and the Parisian temperament
the Academy and Spain as well as all the Spanish
dead living anarchists or Indians indeed all such flip
pancies cold and cynical as exist or do not exist in
coarse brains functioning like stomachs. The amassing
brain — bah ’tis nothing but a crab that stayed behind
in the chowder and made believe he was an emperor.
It was a brave chowder with brass music and travel-
pictures.
How do you do what already very well rescussitate
in the wind no matter where how are you says my
friend i am very well thank you do you want
a light he says the ruffled bird might pass as an
