PARDON MY DUST:

Abstract

I cannot believe I am to blame, sentenced, delivered to the hands of erupting misfortune. I have made a promise to my other self, that between the ironies of this life there is a place for me. So I live in this world and scheme with other men in order to save this paradise as if by some recognizable understanding I can achieve such goals without the aid of life. I do not know how to live with love but without the consistency and affirmation of some enchanted flame there burns only the reassurance that all my human works are in vain. What is this brutal execution I call progressiveness if only a disguise to murder the matter with selfish scrutiny?