Religions, institutions and codes of law are no longer animated; solely the dead weight of the past holds them in position. Of what use to plan, meditate or invent, to conquer elements or to evoke from the earth new, fantastic and wonder-working metals, when that which has custody of all such things, that which alone can give continuity to the works and achievements of man our mother civilization itself is in dissolution? To the mind of the anarchist, there are but two courses open to humanity. First: there may be a continuance of the present conditions: a society stratified as now, stupidified as now, completely organized, of antique institutions, growing perpetually enfeebled in spirit, the current of its vitality becoming attenuated until lost in the morass of an enormous racial degeneracy. Or else, secondly, the mechanism of civilization may break and a period of administrative and moral chaos not easily distinguishable from barbarism supervene upon dilatory decadence. It is this second course that commends itself to the anarchist. Only in a partial cessation of its continuity, only in a barbaric forgetfulness of its eternal problems and speculations can an exhausted humanity come once more to a zest for existence and the will to achievement. And an Anarchy is commonly an epoch of such confusion and recovery. Impressions of the Loop _A Boy Reader, Chicago_: Is the following good enough for you to print? As I walk through the streets of the Loop, Big, fat, double-chinned women fan by; They reek of Melba perfume: They might have used some other kind, But they like Melba: fat women, I mean. Then there are whining old ladies; They look disdainfully at the gay styles, Whining, because they are disgusted— (Envious disgust). They are old, you know, and can’t do such things. And drunken men tumble from the corner saloons; I envy them, for they are very happy. Miserable, begging men and women sit in comfort On every corner. Some have _an_ arm, some _a_ leg, But they had _another_ once. Why don’t the rich people take care of them? They might lose their arms and legs! Big limousines glide by; Painted blonde ladies sit on soft cushions. They must sit there! What would the jewelry stores do without them! Diamonds glitter on their perfumed hands; They cannot smile, for the paint would crack And fall from their faces. Besides, they are select. Ragamuffins weave in and out. They hop cars, scream, and envy the blossoming windows Of cheap Delicatessens. Flip stenographers flit by; Their ankles are gay with many-colored stilty shoes, But their stockings are full of holes and Jacob’s ladders Under it all. Terrible odors fill the air: Fish, gasoline, booze, sachet-powder (lots of Melba), Gas, cheap roses, and peanuts; coffee, smoke, And other things. Dirty men, clean men, dudes, street mashers,