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