A new man, an ancient world, the mortal divine, flushing shit, and french-necking

***

I am a new man in an ancient world.

A dossier which says "I have done nothing" is still a dossier.

In whatever direction you flee towards freedom, you always carry your cage.

You have been given everything but the gratitude to admit it.

What if it is the divine which is mortal, and the immortal profane?

If you renamed y even by a single, rotting, unripe cherry, found trampled beneath and scattered from the base, can we identify the cherry tree.

To feel is to exclude nothing.

Is all this analysis simply the gravity of a piece of shit before the flushing?

Is the victory worth the battle?

French-necking with a mollusk when the shell closes trapping your tongue while the tide rises over you. Who'da guessed it?

The farthest tree out on the edge of a storm beaten peninsula, rarely looks the most treelike?

***

These fragments are taken from unpublished writings by Jack Haas, selected from the notebooks 1990-2005.