The monotony of driftig down river day after day, with nothing to do but watch the unchanging shore, proved too much for our companions, the two Customs Officials (15)
the names remains, the custom survives
always drifting. Carried by language's illusions, seductions and intimidations, the raft is bound, motionless, to the text, to the world. The explorer is caught in stupidity. The Customs officials see Bliss from the shores of pleasure – from the raft of boredom (16)
