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" -A Word On Statistics-Out of every hundred people, those who always know better:fifty-two.Unsure of every step:almost all the rest. Ready to help,if it doesn't take long:forty-nine. Always good,because they cannot be otherwise:fourwell, maybe five. Able to admire without envy:eighteen. Led to errorby youth (which passes):sixty, plus or minus. Those not to be messed with:four-and-forty. Living in constant fearof someone or something:seventy-seven. Capable of happiness:twenty-some-odd at most. Harmless alone,turning savage in crowds:more than half, for sure. Cruelwhen forced by circumstances:it's better not to know,not even approximately. Wise in hindsight:not many morethan wise in foresight. Getting nothing out of life except things:thirty(though I would like to be wrong). Balled up in painand without a flashlight in the dark:eighty-three, sooner or later. Those who are just:quite a few, thirty-five. But if it takes effort to understand:three. Worthy of empathy:ninety-nine. Mortal:one hundred out of one hundreda figure that has never varied yet. "
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" Blue jeans, white shirtWalked into the room you know you made my eyes burnIt was like, James Dean, for sureYou're so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancerYou were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hopBut you fit me better than my favourite sweater, and I knowThat love is mean, and love hurtsBut I still remember that day we met in december, oh baby!I will love you 'til the end of timeI would wait a million yearsPromise you'll remember that you're mineBaby can you see through the tearsLove you moreThan those bitches beforeSay you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll rememberI will love you 'til the end of timeBig dreams, gangsterSaid you had to leave to start your life overI was like, “No please, stay here,We don't need no money we can make it all work,”But he headed out on sunday, said he'd come home mondayI stayed up waitin', anticipatin', and pacin'But he was chasing paper" Caught up in the game" ‒ that was the last I heardI will love you 'til the end of timeI would wait a million yearsPromise you'll remember that you're mineBaby can you see through the tearsLove you moreThan those bitches beforeSay you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll rememberI will love you 'til the end of timeYou went out every nightAnd baby that's alrightI told you that no matter what you did I'd be by your sideCause Imma ride or dieWhether you fail or flyWell shit at least you tried.But when you walked out that door, a piece of me diedI told you I wanted more-but that's not what I had in mindI just want it like beforeWe were dancing all nightThen they took you away-stole you out of my lifeYou just need to remember....I will love you 'til the end of timeI would wait a million yearsPromise you'll remember that you're mineBaby can you see through the tearsLove you moreThan those bitches beforeSay you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll rememberI will love you 'til the end of time "
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" I WANT her though, to take the same from me.She touches me as if I were herself, her own.She has not realized yet, that fearful thing, thatI am the other,she thinks we are all of one piece.It is painfully untrue.I want her to touch me at last, ah, on the root andquick of my darknessand perish on me, as I have perished on her.Then, we shall be two and distinct, we shall haveeach our separate being.And that will be pure existence, real liberty.Till then, we are confused, a mixture, unresolved,unextricated one from the other.It is in pure, unutterable resolvedness, distinctionof being, that one is free,not in mixing, merging, not in similarity.When she has put her hand on my secret, darkestsources, the darkest outgoings,when it has struck home to her, like a death, " this is _him!_" she has no part in it, no part whatever,it is the terrible _other_,when she knows the fearful _other flesh_, ah, dark-ness unfathomable and fearful, contiguous and concrete,when she is slain against me, and lies in a heaplike one outside the house,when she passes away as I have passed awaybeing pressed up against the _other_,then I shall be glad, I shall not be confused with her,I shall be cleared, distinct, single as if burnished in silver,having no adherence, no adhesion anywhere,one clear, burnished, isolated being, unique,and she also, pure, isolated, complete,two of us, unutterably distinguished, and in unutterable conjunction.Then we shall be free, freer than angels, ah, perfect.VIIIAFTER that, there will only remain that all mendetach themselves and become unique,that we are all detached, moving in freedom morethan the angels,conditioned only by our own pure single being,having no laws but the laws of our own being.Every human being will then be like a flower, untrammelled.Every movement will be direct.Only to be will be such delight, we cover our faceswhen we think of itlest our faces betray us to some untimely fiend.Every man himself, and therefore, a surpassingsingleness of mankind.The blazing tiger will spring upon the deer, un-dimmed,the hen will nestle over her chickens,we shall love, we shall hate,but it will be like music, sheer utterance,issuing straight out of the unknown,the lightning and the rainbow appearing in usunbidden, unchecked,like ambassadors.We shall not look before and after.We shall _be_, _now_.We shall know in full.We, the mystic NOW.(From the poem the Manifesto) "
