Everyone seems more and more
the same.  I have lost touch
with everyone who's different.
I, too, seem more and more the same,
though I still long, sometimes, to change.
Every day, the world is madder
tomorrow than today, yet it is
a tedious, prosaic madness, bereft
of the spontaneity which is the best
compensation of madness.
Everyone is shrinking and seems less
themselves.  The insignificance of who they are
now diminishing who they were before.
Everyone else is becoming one dull face.