Facts And Particulars Annoy Me.

I, Who Called Love My Hope For Love.

Do You Know That Hope Sometimes Consists Only Of A Question Without An Answer?

I Work Only With Lost And Founds.

I Have Grown Weary Of Literature: Silence Alone Comforts Me. If I Continue To Write, It’s Because I Have Nothing More To Accomplish In This World Except To Wait For Death. Searching For The Word In Darkness. Any Little Success Invades Me And Puts Me In Full View Of Everyone. I Long To Wallow In The Mud. I Can Scarcely Control My Need For Self-abasement, My Craving For Licentiousness And Debauchery. Sin Tempts Me, Forbidden Pleasures Lure Me. I Want To Be Both Pig And Hen, Then Kill Them And Drink Their Blood.

What I Want Is To Live Of That Initial And Primordial Something That Was What Made Some Things Reach The Point Of Aspiring To Be Human.