With James Joyce and Hemingway around 1935 literary coflicts were happening.

Wallace Stevens started throwing punches at Hemmingway at a party for example.

The Wasteland by Eliot was to make for a bleak vision of the future.

Yes world war two was amazingly destructive and horrifying and the flippers of the jazz age were gone.  Also sexual language in literature was widening since the  "genius" of Ulysses made it difficult to stop in court.

America was heading torwards the future in a rather dry academic way no doubt to impress the world.

Time was ending

Once upon a time

There was no stopping it

Not even insanity would win

The clock does spin.

The flute does play

How dull

How dull

Goat jumped from rock to rock

His face was smiling

Goat was in love with happiness.

The waters were dancing

And danced right off the page

To choose a life that has some pain

Yet some people are lost for pain

And there blood has ice

Has icicles

And not a bit of frosting.

I realize I have done done a little ground breaking with my fiction.

I will say it was largely situational which caused it to happen.  It was a big surprise to me.  Yes there was great ambition, but the world around me gave me amazing assistance.

How does the little crocodiles

With their shining teeth

Find a swamp to dream in

Where the fish are

Lovely fishes from fishy kingdoms

How the wind would blow them in

Like spirits from the trees

Somewhere in a swamp

The crocodiles dream.

The leaking faucet was fixed

Sky was so blue

As if the possible

Was expanding new sounds

Soon the clouds will give way

Those dark clouds

Let the sun shine please

Through the doors

Though the windows

And into my room

The room within me.




 

Mind over matter...

Heart it!

There is no ready just when.

It means the drinks

Offer the same

Then later to flow faster

Backing from danger

The experience

The experiment

All signs point to:

Maximum joy.