Two natures, one skin bourgeois coat, wolf-shadow within I sit with my books, in the clean little rooms while some wild, unbidden hunger resumes Harry Haller in the looking-glass glare half scholar, half hunger, half none and half there Magic Theater — only for madmen! An individual life is a cross-section of the whole! Magic Theater — no cure, no anthem! I am a wolf of the Steppes, and I know the soul! Two contrary natures, one wounded pulse! Two contrary natures, one split, one whole! Hermine, Maria, Pablo a brief, bright spell in the corridor’s smoke Jazz in the blood, and Mozart’s cold radiance the lesson of laughter, the self made a joke No ladder out, only the mirror to shatter only the long discipline of the absurd Fear not the wolf, says the dark little theater and I enter, instructed, without another word Magic Theater — only for madmen! An individual life is a cross-section of the whole! Magic Theater — no cure, no anthem! I am a wolf of the Steppes, and I know the soul! Two contrary natures, one wounded pulse! Two contrary natures, one split, one whole! Not finished Only begun The theater closes
