There has always been Nothing. There will always be Nothing.
There was a miserable, damnable, wretched, lonely childhood. Itself has passed, but the pain of it has not passed. The pain of it is with me and is added to the pain of now. It is pain that never lets itself be forgotten. The pain of the childhood was the pain of Nothing. The pain of now is the pain of Nothing. Oh, the pathetic burlesque-tragedy of Nothing!
It is burlesque, but it is none the less tragedy. It is tragedy that eats its way inward.
It is only I and the sand and barrenness.
I have never a tender thing in my life. The sand and barrenness has never a grass-blade.
I want a human being to love me. I have need of it. I am starving to death for lack of it.
Bitterest salt tears surge upward—sobs are shaking themselves out from
