text: Cabaret Voltaire At the crossroads of the lights, alert, attentively awaiting the years, in a gilded swamp  joy that rises like arrows to the astral layers, or that other joy that goes down into the mines of magnificent flowers and fertile spasms. Stalactites: seek them everywhere, in managers magnified by pain, eyes white as the hares of the angels.locomotive organisms capable of being turned in all directions by the limpid wind of momentary sensation. --w 1920 --h 1020