After Anais: II
We are a wild extravagance a mad gaiety a verve, a gusto a delerium a continual oscillation between extremes with bare stretches tasting like brass almost leaving a full flavor of emptiness beyond optimism or pessimism. Might we give the last frisson? Does pain have no more secret recesses? We wish no predominant note of bitterness to the full if there were one and if it were possible do we really desire to restore our appetites for fundamental realities? Sign in to see full entry.