I Myself Am An Absolute Abyss.

In Consciousness Dwells The Wondrous, With It Man Attains The Realm Beyond The Material, And The Peyote Tells Us, Where To Find It.

Admittedly Or Not, Conscious Or Unconscious, The Poetic State, A Transcendent Experience Of Life, Is What The Public Is Fundamentally Seeking Through Love, Crime, Drugs, War, Or Insurrection.

If I Commit Suicide, It Will Not Be To Destroy Myself But To Put Myself Back Together Again.

The Race Of Prophets Is Extinct. Europe Is Becoming Set In Its Ways, Slowly Embalming Itself Beneath The Wrappings Of Its Borders, Its Factories, Its Law-courts And Its Universities. The Frozen Mind Cracks Between The Mineral Staves Which Close Upon It.

Poetry Is A Dissociating And Anarchic Force Which Through Analogy, Associations And Imagery, Thrives On The Destruction Of Known Relationships.