VI

Nordic blond Fu Manchu feels a dapper moment of conquest. He's not just ancient but a trip into explaining things again and again. Isn't this a miracle of riding? He'd take the world by each bit of value if he could. We assume that he can't, but we've heard tales. Emperor of French Ideas, Bao Dai himself, proposes an ordinance of very good Champagne at the door chilled thoroughly and by the logic of glistening will allow survival as a piece of something more. What exactly is a rubber plantation? Dread Fu Manchu asks. Resumption of mighty Michelin processing into the economic springing step, said sipping reference to Bao Dai himself. Arduous need indeed.

[I listened at the seashore as 16Greezl'po told world and worlds. And I am supposed to take as given, each projectile of the next thing to come, in the long delaying line of plenty. Logic strides the orb of night and day, roundly beating or taking excuses as trespass. The alien season of deliverance seems so shaded by glassy-eyed riding on the calm moment into which, for all your love, and maybe losing on the way. Struggles are inside. We love to be near the thing we name. Even as we reach, we decide.].