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 Petroleum Industry Icon |
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Death ".Imagine? x x x
Now, of course, ours almost the unique prospering industry -
It is trade in death in which our grandsons, and consequently invest the capital
The main thing that art, cinema, TV that it repeat politics and
Write newspapers, it is reduced here to what: war, certainly, a hell, but the young man, that
To become the man, should do some shooting a little, and whenever possible, though it and
Not necessarily, - in the field of fight. x x x
And I have gone to New York anew to be born.
For the majority of Americans was and remains habitual where - it To leave to make a fresh start. Yes after all and I not such, as parents. No place esteemed sacred, for me existed; was not Assemblages of friends yes relatives whom I left. Anywhere number a zero not Has it philosophical sense, than in America.
"Here leaves nothing", - the American, and time speaks! - a head in Water from a very tall tower.
And so and I too have not been burdened by anything, as if on light and did not appear,
The car. As if never also there was no San- Ignasio. And when the Chicago express train
"The twentieth century it" has rushed in entangled by a seeing-off and pipes the tunnel under
New York, I have jumped out of a womb in the maternity channel.
Ten minutes later I was born at the Central station, dressed in
The suit first in my life, and in hands at me was a fibre suitcase and a portfolio
With my best drawings.
And who has come to welcome this charming Armenian on station The child?
Not a soul, not a soul. x x x
I would be Dan Greg's magnificent illustration to the story about The rural teenager who has appeared all alone in the unfamiliar Huge city. The suit on me was cheap, bought by mail at Sirsa from
- , and anybody better Dan Greg is not able to draw the suits which have been written out on
To the catalogue. Boots, old and cracked, I have polished to shine, Has put new rubber heel-taps. Has inserted also new laces, but one has torn
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