T H E E N D C O M M U N E

When, some time, the endless tirade of foeti clog the mother-womb to cause its final, inevitable corruption, and when the buried nobilities of our ancestral dead arise from the crust of the soil we trample, then I might find a great and sullen repose... then might I renounce my faith in extremism, this polar star of radical individuality growing about on the firmament like a rapturous aurora or some phantasm of hope and fire, the bejewelled chariot of Gods thundering about the starry sky after a hundred and hundred somber moons!