Everything Is Worth Precisely As Much As

All Of Us Collect Fortunes When We Are Children. A Fortune Of Colors, Of Lights, And Darkness, Of Movement, Of Tensions. Some Of Us Have The Fantastic Chance To Go Back To His Fortune When Grown Up.

I Want To Confess As Best I Can, But My Heart Is Void. The Void Is A Mirror. I See My Face And Feel Loathing And Horror. My Indifference To Men Has Shut Me Out. I Live Now In A World Of Ghosts, A Prisoner In My Dreams.

Here, In My Solitude, I Have The Feeling That I Contain Too Much Humanity.

I Could Always Live In My Art But Never In My Life

I Feel Very Strongly That I’m Surrounded By Other Realities.