I Could Never Throw Love Out Of

And From That Time On I Bathed In The Poem Of The Sea, Star-infused And Churned Into Milk, Devouring The Green Azures; Where, Entranced In Pallid Flotsam, A Dreaming Drowned Man Sometimes Goes Down.

...i Is Another. If The Brass Wakes The Trumpet, It’s Not Its Fault. That’s Obvious To Me: I Witness The Unfolding Of My Own Thought: I Watch It, I Hear It: I Make A Stroke With The Bow: The Symphony Begins In The Depths, Or Springs With A Bound Onto The Stage. If The Old Imbeciles Hadn’t Discovered Only The False Significance Of Self, We Wouldn’t Have To Now Sweep Away Those Millions Of Skeletons Which Have Been Piling Up The Products Of Their One-eyed Intellect Since Time Immemorial, And Claiming Themselves To Be Their Authors!

What An Old Maid I'm Getting To Be. Lacking The Courage To Be In Love With Death!

Whose Hearts Must I Break? What Lies Must I Maintain? - Through Whose Blood Am I To Wade ?

And I Am Still Alive-what Though, My Damnation Is Eternal. A Man Who Deliberately Mutilates Himself Is Truly Damned, Is He Not? I Believe That I Am In Hell, Therefore I Am.