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My name is Percy Bysshe Shelley. I am rather delicate and morbid, but full of inflamed passions.

I am western thought and I am going to scramble your messages.

I am a demoiselle d'Avignon.

(to be devoid of meaning is to look at the prefix of delight)

*   *   *

 
 

In the rococco painting the man and the woman are giddy and malicious. He is looking up her skirt. She falls off her swing into the crowd of onlookers at the museum. I have always wanted to tell you that I --

 
 

That you what.

That I have a spine.

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