"You said it, fathead; I am an anarchist! And to prove it, there's a sort of social prayer I've written. You can tell me this minute what you think of it. 'Wings of Gold' it's called." And I recited it to him:
"A God who counts the minutes and the pence, a desperate God, sensual and grunting like a pig. A pig with wings of gold which tumbles through the world, with exposed belly waiting for caresses, lo, 'tis he, behold our master! Embrace, embrace!"
No comments:
Post a Comment