of course, he said, but it's contingent on physics and chemistry. and provable by rules of mechanics, we tried to plead. he pressed the thumb of his left hand against the pulse of his right, his eyes roaming over the furniture in the room. tinny old pianner, he said, tinny old pianner wrapped in love. although, triggered by my metronome, he said, focusing his eyes through the window on the green of the garden, i used to have a clock in my head and could count on arriving right on the dot, lately i am always late, and it upsets me. it upsets me, he said, as it upsets my search for a new magic of lan guage, forest father of German art, he said, and it reminds me of this childhood game, he said, when we bought a little Chinese doll and squeezed to make it squeak, in very charming contrast to its beautiful clear face with its straight black hair and the delicate colors of its crown of glass beads. it's important to know, he said, and it upsets me. it upsets me that it upsets me, he said. that i'm emotionally dependent on you, quarry and plumage! may his hand rise out of his grave! important to know, he said, and it upsets me. it upsets me, he said, that it upsets me. that i feel persecuted, burdened with persecution by men and things that seem fixated on me so that i in turn begin to be fixated on them, in the hope perhaps to stay clear of them after all, quarry and plum age! what the, he said, bell tolls. just as the tropical moon, he said, which one might liken to a bowl, he said, seemed to pursue me. may his hand rise out of his grave! it upsets me, he said, as it upsets me to leap from mountains in the morning, in hunched position, he said, forever unable to rest, de vouring with mounting impatience all the hours of the day, in fire eating fits all the months of the year. interrupted only by dreams just as breathless, untamed, un bridled, with irregular habits, in hunched position. a trip a trip cut into many small pictures, he said. it upsets me, he said, as it upsets me that i, because alive, try to spew forth everything inside me because i live by living. he felt with the thumb of his right hand the pulse of his left. secondhand happiness, he said, secondhand love. how do you explain this, he said, looking at us and using the formal adress as he did from time to time. czech heart, english hair, he said, how do you explain this. how do you explain this, he said, shoes still covered with dust of new york streets, and already dropped out of the clouds, out of cloudcuckooland, dropped, before brannt. go to hell, he said, go to hell. may his hand rise out of his grave! it upsets me, he said, as it upsets me that i won't be able to go to texas any more, it would have been nice for preserving the texts. …