Beauty Makes One Lose One's Head. Poetry

The Hot Hall Full Of Painted Girls And American Soldiers Is A Saloon In Some Western Film. This Noise Drenches Us, Wakens Us To Do Something Else. It Shows Us A Lost Path.

Style Is A Simple Way Of Saying Complicated Things.

The Runner Stopped Dead, Lost His Balance, Froze In One Of Those Violent Attitudes In Which The Photographers Petrify Living Reality.

My Little Renoirs. Matisse Describes Having Seen Renoir Make These Tiny Canvases. When He Had Finished Working, He Would Use Up The Color Left In His Brushes On Them.

Keep Braiding One's Wavelengths Back Into Oneself. That Way They Gain All The More External Power And Surround Us With A Huge Affective And Protective Zone. Don't Talk About This. Never Talk About Our Secret Methods. If We Talk About Them, They Stop Working.