No words can breathe public air in voided worlds of flimsy deceit. We ought not write with the motive of conveying our ideas and thoughts. The act of writing is now like building a wall with no purpose or function. As an adherent of the poetry of the sublime, this pen has no objection to activities of an artistic nature without purpose. There is no subject more worthy of painting than idleness. No sight is handsomer than a drifter who does not torment himself with hunger and deprivation and who simply roams the earth seeking freedom and beauty.