A new prose occurs to me: it is sublimate and rich, dripping dark with chocolate; it is the black or all good texture and taste (curve in my mouth, slip in the lips) of chocolate -- I mean the slip for the turn, the sharp function of hands, the good movement of making with a spatula -- cooking, mixing, butter, batter (that slightly bitter sound that comes, undoubtedly from rhyme). Rich like this I write, with plenty of sharp and wholesome sounds -- but not just sound, or the repetitions thereof, or the piling up of inadequate and useless words (to the task, I must say, rescued from obscurity by a generous philology); characters -- the flow of experience like a river, lying on the silt and gazing out towards the ocean. By the ocean I symbolize eternity, the ripe edge of experience, the rotting slip of a decadent darkness. I will be all places and transcend time: I the narrator, like Dante. Because I intend to personify, to bring back this instant that oft-criticized, the allegory; my ideas I will bear to life. If I make a mistake, Virtue will reprove me (cast in a white veil with the pallor of mourning) -- if a reader is discontent, I will bring the reader to my prose, into the class-room of my own creation, and in a battle of wills I will dominate, and then be whipped for my presumption by the aspersions of Wisdom. Towering wisdom will become a goddess, a goddess to worship at the altar; and yet my poetry will flow into my prose; a thousand eddies, whirls, rips, streams, tides -- words piling into life and life piling into words: this is the silt and this is the sand, the fiat lux of my creation. By making my own dispersions and wanderings into a character, by typologizing to follow Dante -- and I will follow Dante. Bring him to my prose. Make him speak, with Virgil as a guide. Ah, of such great horizons is the human mind, casting over the shore like a sea-gull, the shadow and the sharp beak, master of all that it surveys (and yet a little white blip, fading into that vast blue sky, the canvas of my own making -- Vincent VanGhogh, sun-flowing and sharp twisting trees)!