Moise and the World of Reason [antikvár]

I T Xh .ms room of Charlie's and mine wasn't really a room, it was a small section of an abandoned warehouse near the South Hudson docks. It was graced with a minimal sort of lavatory and a precipitous flight of stairs to West Eleventh Street and it was scantily partitioned off from the vastness in which it crouched by three walls of plywood which ascended about halfway to the ceiling. Sometimes I called it "the rectangle with hooks," for an earlier lover of mine, the only earlier lover, had placed hooks in the plywood to hang things on, and at the risk of committing a pathetic fallacy, I will add that there was not much to hang on them anymore. But I am not a materialistic person as most sensualists are. I am a very sensual person. I suppose I would have to confess that I am, it is so apparent in my writing, both in the truths and the fantasies of my existence, and I think it is visible in my eyes, as visible as a thing printed in 11