continuation of the lamentation

Are there no connoisseurs?

No lovers of love?

Is this the way the world is going to end, -- in indifference? Where are the serious, consequential, undeniable true fires? Where are the old prophets and scriveners of the Scriptures? Where is the Lamb? Where are the little ones? What has happened to parable? -- to the Word? -- even to mere tales and seriousness?

What's all this frivolous science?

Why do people wander around in unseriousness and forget even that?

Where is the serious child?

...This is why I can't fish deep now. O come to me, love, hurry up for Christ's sake -- the Muse is not enough, and there are no laurel wreaths.

I want a soul.
I want a soul.
I want a soul.
I want my little girl.

I insist that life is holy, and that we must be reverent of one another, always. This is the only truth: it has been said so, a thousand million times.

-- Jack Kerouac 1949 Journals 29 August