the ordinary café of the world new worlds shine in the dust come up through the slums of the mind only to choke on mosquito ideas. it's most difficult like eating a salad in the ordinary café of the world; it's most difficult to create art here. look about. the pieces to work with are missing. they must be created or found. the critics should be generous an the critics are seldom generous. they think it's easy to put out water with fire. but there's been no wasted effort no matter what they've done to us: the critics the lost women the lost jobs, damn them all anyhow they're hardly as interesting as this ordinary café, this ordinary world, we know there should be a better place, an easier place, but there's not; that's our secret and it's not much. but it's enough. we have chosen the ordinary, withering fire. to create art means to be crazy alone forever.