Art Is A Marriage Of The Conscious

Nothing Ever Gets Anywhere. The Earth Keeps Turning Round And Gets Nowhere. The Moment Is The Only Thing That Counts.

Don't For A Moment Believe He Was Killing The Young; He Was Costuming Angels.

Man Seeks To Escape Himself In Myth, And Does So By Any Means At His Disposal. Drugs, Alcohol, Or Lies. Unable To Withdraw Into Himself, He Disguises Himself. Lies And Inaccuracy Give Him A Few Moments Of Comfort.

If An Addict Who Has Been Completely Cured Starts Smoking Again He No Longer Experiences The Discomfort Of His First Addiction. There Exists, Therefore, Outside Alkaloids And Habit, A Sense For Opium, An Intangible Habit Which Lives On, Despite The Recasting Of The Organism. The Dead Drug Leaves A Ghost Behind. At Certain Hours It Haunts The House.

Children And Lunatics Cut The Gordian Knot Which The Poet Spends His Life Patiently Trying To Untie.