Well, men change, and change doesn't always work. Tolstoy moved toward God at the end and flattened. Gorky, after the revolution, had nothing to write about. Dos Passos became a capitalist with a face like a barber and died in the hills above me here. Celine became a crank and forgot how to laugh. Shostakovich never changed, wrote his fifth symphony and then wrote it over and over again in all the symponies that followed. Mailer became an intelligent journalist, as did Capote. Pound just got darker and darker and pissed out. Spender quit, Auden quit, Olson begged to the crowd. Creeley got angry and tightened. Abraham Lincoln hated blacks and Faulkner wore a corset. Ginsberg sucked to the sound of himself and was overcome. And old Henry Miller long done, fucking beautiful Japanese girls under the shower.