I Am Not Capitulating.

The Human Comedy Does Not Attract Me Enough. I Am Not Entirely Of This World. I Am From Elsewhere, And It Is Worth Finding This Elsewhere Beyond The Walls...but Where Is It?

The Light Of Memory, Or Rather The Light That Memory Lends To Things, Is The Palest Light Of All. I Am Not Quite Sure Whether I Am Dreaming Or Remembering, Whether I Have Lived My Life Or Dreamed It. Just As Dreams Do, Memory Makes Me Profoundly Aware Of The Unreality, The Evanescence Of The World, A Fleeting Image In The Moving Water.

The Universe Seems To Me Infinitely Strange And Foreign. At Such A Moment I Gaze Upon It With A Mixture Of Anguish And Euphoria; Separate From The Universe, As Though Placed At A Certain Distance Outside It; I Look And I See Pictures, Creatures That Move In A Kind Of Timeless Time And Spaceless Space, Emitting Sounds That Are A Kind Of Language I No Longer Understand Or Ever Register.

Everything That Has Been Will Be, Everything That Will Be Is, Everything That Will Be Has Been.

I've Always Been Suspicious Of Collective Truths.